#just that electronic shit u know

[villainsidestep]

tbh we were thinking of the store front just last night actually

[jkpng]

who rock remix………….jimin i forgive u for teasing me with those guitar concept pics

[highvern]

endpoint

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x f!reader

Genre: fluff, smut, angst, FWB to idiots to lovers

warnings:  cumshot/facial, unprotected sex, multiple sex scenes, oral sex (m & f receiving), rough sex, breath play (choking), mentions of exhibitionism, face fucking, virgin wonwoo mentions, idiots in love, edging (emotionally), impact play, sir kink (brief), alcohol consumption

Length: ~19.5k

Note: thank you to @gyuswhore my love, my life, for suffering through this with me. this fic is set in the same universe as her gyu fic for this collab so check it out (threat). also thank u @haologram and everyone else who beta'd this for me bc im sensitive. follow @camandemstudios for more fics!!! i will come back later and tag the people who commented on the teaser but rn im getting day drunk hehehe

summary: Senior year of college is meant to be full of celebration and smooth sailing. Years of work culminating in the final semesters that will send you off into the real world where clubs, sports, and weekends packed with hungover volunteering to pad your resume no longer mattered. It’d be a piece of cake if it wasn’t for your fuck buddy turned coworker having the same plan. But only one of you can get the department’s most coveted recommendation that all but guarantees your acceptance. Tension rises and the nearly four year thing you’ve had with Wonwoo approaches its endpoint.

collab m.list || m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

“What’s the difference between a proton and an electron again?”

“Shoot me in the fucking head,” Wonwoo whispers harshly.

He’s a seat over, a laptop covered in gaming stickers and a coffee cup containing a lethal amount of caffeine occupying the space atop the narrow lecture desk. It’s a feign to productivity. His screen is split between thesis notes and a countdown to a new video game release that unfortunately hits 0 in the middle of lecture. 

Dr. Wagner’s intro to chemistry  course isn’t difficult – freshman aside – which is why you and Wonwoo agreed to be her teaching assistants. Easy money and a way to get in her good graces come grad school application season. You’ve TA’ed the same course since sophomore year for different professors but it’s all the same; the metaphorical killing field before hopeful freshmen become cannon fodder in the real trial of will: O Chem. 

“Me first,” you whisper back. 

Wonwoo slumps in his chair, opening the shared drive keeping track of problem areas to touch on in lab hours, and typing “check for basic brain activity” under the class To-Do list. 

Fair enough. If they can’t understand the basics this far into the semester then you two are in for a world of hurt for the next practical. You're in for a world of hurt come next study hall when half of them will complain about failing their quiz this morning despite having the answers spoon fed straight from the notes.

[09:48] You:  be nice

[09:48] wonwoo: if they were smarter, id be nicer

[09:48] You: maybe they’re scared stupid

It wouldn’t be too far off. One time a freshman burst into tears while asking Wonwoo to check their practice work during lab hours. Wonwoo swears he didn’t say anything and the kid looked on the verge of a mental breakdown if the wind blew the wrong way.

[09:48] wonwoo: from what?

[09:48] You: the fact ur trying to kill them with your mind

[09:49 ]wonwoo : i wouldn’t kill them

[09:49] wonwoo: just maim or seriously injure so they dont come to class and say dumb shit

Dr. Wagner fields more questions in front of the powerpoint. More ‘dumb shit’ Wonwoo rolls his eyes at with such obvious disgust even you feel chastised. Luckily, no one can see his face from the front row besides you.

[09:49] You: you wonder why they like me more

[09:50] wonwoo: i know why they like you more

[09:50] You: oh?

Stifling an eye roll of your own you throw a glance his way as the next message comes through,

[09:50] wonwoo: nice ass

“Alright, Y/N and Wonwoo will be passing out the study guide for the next exam. We still have a few weeks so don’t worry about the back half but try and review the modules we’ve done so far and bring questions for them during study hours,” Dr. Wagner prattles off.

The gigantic stack of printouts is split in half for you and Wonwoo to disperse around the massive lecture hall. Over one hundred students sit in this lecture; the unfortunate ones who were forced to take a 9 AM course three days a week. Half look like their brain is melting out of their ears, other’s clearly haven’t paid attention at all, and a few are sound asleep. It’s Friday after all. They probably didn’t get back from their Thirsty Thursday night out until a few hours ago.

You wouldn’t even be here if Wonwoo wasn’t a built in insurance policy.

Dr. Wagner collects her things and heads towards the front exit with a cheery, “Have a good weekend!”

“There's a party at Sigma tonight,” Wonwoo shares as you both pack your own bags. The next class is already shuffling through the doors to claim their seats.

“I have work until eleven.”

“After?”

Shouldering your bag, you head towards the door where the next class is already trickling in to find their seats. “Don’t you have a tournament tomorrow?”

“I only have to be at the party for like an hour. I can come and walk you home.”

“Fine,” you nod. “But bring your laptop. I think Chan fucked up the last set of results and we need to fix them.”

It’s not unusual for Wonwoo to spend his Friday nights with you; or another night for that matter. He lives in a dingy frat house on the edge of campus with twenty other guys. It’s an act of mercy. A long standing tradition from the week before freshman year when you two were the only chemistry majors in your orientation group and that turned into a clumsy hook up at an upperclassman’s party. You didn’t know he’d be a virgin and he didn’t know your high school boyfriend dumped you less than twenty four hours before you left for college (but not before you lost your own virginity in the backseat of his car). 

It’d been…not good. 

Wonwoo was awkward and you were unsure. But he was sweet under the bravado; walked you home that night, pretended he wasn’t interested in the fact your roommate never moved in, leaving the suite empty. But he wasn’t a good enough actor to feign nonchalance when you invited him upstairs. Turns out sex was a lot better the second time around, in a bed that didn’t belong to an unknown upperclassman who could’ve burst in any minute. 

Wonwoo isn’t your boyfriend. You’re too busy piecing together the ten year plan concocted since junior year of highschool to even think about such frilly ideas. There’s barely enough time as it is; you’ve got work, a full class schedule, TAing, and all the random clubs you’ve wiggled your way into to pad your resume. 

And he’s busy too. Navigating a sports scholarship and one of the hardest majors left barely enough time for him to wipe his own ass, let alone date. Then came research hours and TAing and the fact volleyball, apparently, wasn’t just a one semester sport, there were scrimmages, workouts, and tournaments out of season. 

It’s been over three years of your arrangement which works best because you don’t have to spend precious brain power deciphering if some random guy you went out with once is playing hard to get or just straight up not interested. You have Wonwoo. He’s simple. 

So what you have now, friends. Who hook up. And work together. Who also happens to be applying for the same PhD program for next year. Not together but at the same time.

The application website stares back from your laptop with horror. 

It’s still too early to submit any materials but it’s been highlighted in bold red in your calendar since two years ago. Everything is ready to go the second it opens—except Dr. Wagner’s recommendation. It’s the sole reason you (and Wonwoo) agreed to be her TAs this semester; she’s one of the program’s most notorious alum, her words as good as gold in securing a spot. 

Someone hacks a cough and shatters the eerie silence of the library. The backtrack of sparse typing and the custodian shuffling around to have been the only company throughout your shift. No one would choose to rot at any of the weathered study tables late on a Friday night so early in the semester. 

With the abundance of free time, you fixed Chan’s mistakes in his set of trials easily, no thanks to Wonwoo who still hasn’t shown up. It’s good though. Your stoichiometry homework is submitted three days before the deadline and the mountain of emails clogging your inbox from hopeless undergrads is in the single digits. Half the labs from last week are graded for Dr. Wagner’s approval, the other half can wait until Sunday night. A long weekend of sleep awaits once the clock hits eleven and you’re free to run home.

Wonwoo stumbless in five minutes before the clock runs out. His duffle for tomorrow is slung over his shoulder and he’s already dressed for bed, rumpled sweats and a hat he definitely wore to the party with high hopes to cut out early. 

“You’re late,” you acknowledge, cramming your belongings back into your bag. He’s close enough to get a whiff of. “And you’re drunk.”

“I am not drunk,” he argues.

The lazy smile tugging at the corner of his lips says otherwise but it isn’t an argument worth having. All you want to do is get home and pass out.

He shoulders you bag, presenting his hand when you insist you can carry it on your own. The dry warm of his palm against your cold is pleasant enough you don’t argue as you tug him towards the automatic doors.

“Have a goodnight, Mr. Lee,” you call towards the security desk.

The guard, old enough to be your grandfather, calls back, “You too, sweetheart.”

Out in the balmy night, you tug Wonwoo down the street in the direction of your apartment. Two blocks and then a right turn leaving you outside the dowdy building with hallways that constantly reek of weed and new paint smell.

A pack of freshmen girls heading somewhere, marked by their matching uniform of jeans and black tops of various coverage, crowd the sidewalk straight ahead. Someone is crying, one is on the phone, and a few others stand dumbly waiting for their next movie like zombies — all incredibly wasted. You barrel through them without acknowledgement. A few drunken bitter ‘bitch’s hit your back but you ignore them to focus on the man struggling to push through the crowd without accidentally shoulder checking any of them.

On the other side, you ask, “Have fun at the party?”

“Some pledge puked on Jihoon’s stuff,” he huffs, nose scrunching.

“May he rest in peace.”

Wonwoo sways from side to side from the weight of your bag but also whatever radioactive mix was served at the party. The stairs provide an extra challenge since the elevator has been broken for weeks but thankfully it’s a short trip to the second floor.

He presents your belongings with routine ease once the front door of your apartment looms ahead. Music from the floor above shakes the walls; hopefully you can make up for the lack of sleep tomorrow morning.

There isn’t much space inside the four walls you call home – the ‘kitchen’ which is a single counter with a stove and fridge you’re barely around to use, fifteen feet away your bed in the corner, bordered by your desk at the foot cramped with a spray of errant papers and books you’ve been too busy to deal with. The monitor doubles as a TV and finally a tiny loveseat with a broken leg replaced by a stack of hard covers completes the room.

You beeline for the bathroom to wash away the filth of a long day and Wonwoo, keeping on trend, follows into the cramped space.

“Can I help you?” you ask, shirt tossed into the bin in the corner.

Wonwoo’s shirt goes the same and then his pants after a brief struggle. “You know I sleep better when I shower.” 

True.

“And I doubt you're gonna let me in your bed if I’m dirty.”

Even truer.

The water is still cold when you step in but the man glued to your back fights the worst of the chill away. Goosebumps prickle along your skin but have nothing to do with the vent that points directly into the stall (whoever designed the apartments must have had a sick sense of humor) and everything to do with Wonwoo’s mouth tracing the curve of your shoulder.

Forcing the heat blooming between your legs down to a simmer, you focus on washing up and getting into bed before it rolls into a boil and you do something stupid that’ll only leave you and Wonwoo struggling for balance. 

Shower sex is a dangerous sport. Shower sex with Wonwoo has left you both with bruises. Drunken shower sex with Wonwoo will get you both killed.

Soft hums tickle your neck as you clean up. There isn’t enough room for two people to stand in the spray at once so you take turns hogging the steamy water and braving the frigid cold until the last bits of soap swirl the drain.

Even when drying off you stay in each other’s orbit until the need for clothes and sleep drive you both out of the bathroom and back into the equally cramped space of your room.

It’s not until you’re laying on the mattress, darkness snug on all sides, that you feel Wonwoo roll atop you with purpose.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Wonwoo hums into your stomach, fingers crawling up your bare legs.

“That,” you inhale at the nip of his teeth on the curve of your thigh, “doesn’t feel like nothing to me.”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer but gives you plenty of time to brush him off while bruising your skin. You don’t. Instead you sink deeper into the blankets and let him push your shirt up until you're bare once more.

The fuzziness of alcohol lingers in his veins – just enough that he smiles into the strip of skin above your panties as you sigh and arch under the delicious weight of wandering hands and mouth at your nipple.

“Wonwoo,” you sigh and he’s up and kissing you with eager clumsiness.

A familiar prod at your core through his boxers crashes bubbles through your veins. You felt it in the bathroom but now is when you finally get to indulge with subtle grinds Wonwoo meets in his own search for friction. 

“Don’t you need to be up—ugh—early tomorrow?”

He kisses you slowly, tongue dragging along your bottom lip until your mouth opens under his. It burns you from the inside out. Mindlessly you shift your legs to frame his hips better but Wonwoo kisses deeper and all you can think about is giving in to whatever scheme he’s working up to have you both naked and panting.

He leans back a fraction to speak, giving in when you chase his lips before ducking to nip at your ear and mumbling a response. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I will worry about it when you snooze twenty alarms and your team hunts me down because I smothered their star player with a pillow,” you snort but heat under a squeeze of his fingers at your sides.

“Sleep when I’m done with this.”

“And what is ‘this’ exactly?”

A harsh suck at your jaw has your stomach tight. heavy and thick until need drips down your spine to coil in your gut and the emptiness between your thighs becomes unignorable. He hides pleased groans in the curve of your neck until you force a hand under the band of his underwear. Eyes opening, you watch the muscles of his back tense and flex as he rocks against you, fucking your fist greedily.

It doesn’t last long. Wonwoo gets antsy under the taunting pressure of your thumb and descends back down your body with burning lips. “Take your shirt off.”

“It’s cold,” you complain but do as he asks. 

He traces your figure clad in nothing but your glasses and a soiled pair of panties; damp at the crotch from his attention and Wonwoo slips a finger under the hem to tease you that inch closure to depravity.

Wonwoo laves against the hickey on the inside of your thigh from a week ago, it’s yellowed and perfectly shaped like his mouth. It’s tender under his attention, even the gentle tracing on his nose forcing you to wince in discomfort. 

He coos, kissing it before skating back to the hem of your panties, lips vibrating against your skin. “Sorry I didn’t come earlier.”

Why he brings it up now is a mystery. Or the fact he brings it up at all. Life happens. You’ve blown him off more than once for a late night in the library; no hard feelings.

“It’s fine,” you sigh as he tugs the last scrap of fabric off your body and pushes your knees up to display you like a meal.

Spreading you apart, he lands a wet kiss at your entrance before teasing with the heat of his tongue. 

In a beg for sanity you twist a tight grip in his hair; a tangled mess from his drunk endeavors. Wonwoo pushes harder, drowns in your taste with enthusiasm as you moan and sigh. 

“F-fuck.”

He won’t ask if it’s good. He knows it is. Nearly four years of hook ups attunes him to your pleasure, a well rehearsed routine that has you both ache in the best way. 

You lose yourself in shaking breaths, feet planted to drive up into his mouth for more. He sucks your clit and nearly gets his head crushed by your thighs. It doesn’t take much and he knows it. 

You chant ‘gonna cum’ in choked groans that almost die at the edge of your teeth but Wonwoo hears and takes it as permission to pull out the stops, hand at your thing with a harsh grip and fingers sinking home.

He’s memorized all the signs of your want; the wrecked echo of your throat and the sounds he pulls from you a clear tell. He flattens his tongue, holding steady as grind straight into mindless bliss. Spit pools and drips and slips down onto the sheets. Wonwoo hums praise, unintelligible but you vaguely know it’s something that’d make you blush you could hear it over the pounding in your ears.

Back arching, your vision flares white at the edges and when Wonwoo realizes what's happening he makes it last until your fist ball up and you’re floating.

Wonwoo backs down as you twitch through the tail end, sloppy kisses to your clit that could knock into another fit if he isn’t careful. But even as you tremble the only thing you want is the weight of his cock in your mouth, or inside you. You aren’t picky as long as you get to feel him cum too.

You finally manage to pry Wonwoo from between your legs with an ankle to his ribs. You’re not done with him despite the fatigue hanging around your shoulders like dead weight. He angles over top of you for a kiss that tastes too much like pussy for your liking but it’s hot knowing he’s covered in you so you push until his shoulders meet the sheets and you can claim his lap.

His dick strains through his underwear, preening when you rock back into the heat. His nostrils flare when you grab for it, stiff enough to sink onto easily. 

“Oh god,” he groans, head digging back into the pillows to watch you like a goddess.

His fingers web across the tops of your thighs, a harsh grip keeping you flat as he grinds up into the wet heat of your pussy. You whimper and sigh for him; all the sounds he loves to hear. You squeeze your chest, taut nipples framed between the slants of your fingers to entice him until he reaches around and knocks you forward for the sole purpose of taking one in his mouth.

Your eyes roll back, jaw locked open, drowning in the stretch and the bite of his mouth and the hands squeezing your ass so hard it hurts. Wonwoo groans, throaty and desperate. “Gonna cum. Wanna cum in you. Holy shit.”

He gets you on your back. Too absorbed in his own end, he’s dead weight with his tongue between your lips and harsh thrusts that take him right to the edge. It gives that grit against your clit that means you’ll come too, soaked in cum and spit and sweat.

You wish he’d flip you on your front and fuck you with a hand between you shoulder blades and the other tangled in your hair. That’s the kind of fuck that’d leave you satisfied the entire weekend he’s busy but he’s running out of steam just doing this, picking up speed in his thrust, the clap of bodies filling the room.

Chanting his name like a broken record, ‘Wonwoo, Wonwoo, Wonwoo’ breathy but loud enough your neighbors will leave another passive aggressive note on your door come morning, all you can think about is his cum. On you, in you. A sick part wants him to pull out and cum on your face – he hasn’t, not in a long time because priorities and responsibilities and you're usually lucky to have even five minutes alone before someone needs either of you. But you want it. God do you want it.

“Cum on my face,” you whimper. There’s drool on your lips and sweat in your hairline. Even if he doesn't, you'll need another shower anyway.

A strangled noise escapes from between his teeth at your neck. Then he’s driving forward so hard you burn; painfully so, mouth locked in a silent choke. Your orgasm rips through your insides, jagged at the edges where Wonwoo fucks himself into your guts. 

“Fuck yeah,” he grunts, pulling away and replacing the grip of your pussy with a tight fist as he straddles your chest. 

The taste of cock floods your tongue, heady and intoxicating. You get one, two drags against the stiff head and then he’s cumming, dripping his spend over your lips, then your cheek, then your glasses because he’s a sick freak. Even in the dim light from the window he twitches at the sight. You open your mouth and replace his hold, moaning as more comes to the surface. You swallow down as far as he’ll go which isn’t much in this position but it’s the thought that counts.

Wonwoo grinds to halt with an occasional kick of his hips that leaves you choking – rigid limbs locking in place until he melts with sticky satisfaction. 

He’s up and off, your glasses in hand for a thorough cleaning, not even bothering to flick on any of the lights but you hear the sink running in the bathroom before he comes padding back.

“God,” you whimper in disgust. “That’s so gross.”

“You’re the one who asked for it,” Wonwoo snorts, soft passes of a damp cloth on your skin focused on getting you clean enough to sleep.

“Because it’s hot but you aim for shit.”

Wonwoo tosses the rag somewhere, flopping down and pulling you close as possible with a kiss on your forehead. “Next time I’ll aim for your hair.”

“Bitch.”

The sound of music from upstairs pulses through your head as you drift off, Wonwoo asleep on your chest, fingers laced together on the sheets beside your indecipherably intertwined bodies.

Your week is divided into a simple pattern. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays you wake bright and early to attend Dr. Wagner’s chem lecture and then stay on campus attending every other class you could find to fill the gap between your evening shift at the library. Tuesdays and Thursdays are void of responsibility until your afternoon lab with the freshman near tears while learning basic titration for four hours, followed by office hours where said freshman finally come to actually cry about their grades. Those are the nights you, Chan, Wonwoo and a handful of other lab techs work on research that carries the same threat of waterworks. 

It’s there Dr. Wagner pulls you and Wonwoo aside.

“I know you both are applying to Dr. Collins lab for your PhD studies,” she starts. 

Her office reflects the same disarray as her personality; warm and lived in. Papers and exams are organized in chaos, thick stacks lining her desk waiting for you and Wonwoo to enter them into the online grade book. Books, some leather, some paperback, some the glossy cover of a textbook with cracked spines and yellowing pages are crammed into the bookshelves lining the walls until they threaten to collapse from the weight. It smells like coffee, plants, and the candle she always has burning. It’s a cozy hovel overlooking the rear courtyard of the science building that resembles the sterility of a hospital. 

Wonwoo occupies the other barrel chair with worn upholstery. You’ve barely seen him in the past three weeks, too busy with volunteering and working and classes while his own responsibilities keep him so exhausted it’s truly a miracle he’s even here. Dark stains ring his eyes beneath his glasses and he looks paler than usual. You’ll ask about it tonight when he comes over to work on your most recent stoichiometry project (which will be forgotten in favor of passing out during a movie while you play with his hair if history is anything to go by).

“I don’t think I’ve ever met two students who belong more in his lab,” she continues.

You try not to preen, but academic validation is a hell of a drug to caffeine addicted undergrads. Wonwoo perks up too. Three and a half years of barely being people for this moment and it’s finally in reach.

“However,” Dr. Wagner clasps her hands atop the dark wooden desk. “I’m writing only one recommendation this semester. It might seem unfair but I want to commit to the student that deserves it the most since my schedule doesn’t allow me much free time.”

It’s like being underwater. You hear her words but nothing registers, blinking rapidly in case this is a hallucination from falling asleep in the lab again.

“I know it might not be the news you hoped for but I know senior year is a lot, especially for students as involved as you all, and I thought this could alleviate some of the stress. You two are the only students I’m considering. So please, keep up the incredible work and we can talk again at the end of the semester when I have a more holistic evaluation of your progress.”

She stands to leave, snagging her purse and blowing out the candle with finality before abandoning the shit storm in your lap for whatever else she has to do on a Thursday night. Probably retell the events of the last five minutes to other professors in the department, laughing at the way you’ve turned purple from holding your breath.

“Have a good night you two! See you tomorrow!”

The office, once warm, feels hollow. You feel hollow. 

“What the fuck?” Wonwoo hasn’t moved either, glued to his seat as he stares at Dr. Wagner’s now vacant chair with his mouth wide in shock.

“Did that just happen?” you scoff in disbelief. “Is she serious?”

Wonwoo collapses over his knees with his hands scrubbing at his face like he also might be hallucinating. “I needed that recommendation.”

“Well, so do I,” you argue.

“I know. This is bullshit.”

“Did Changkyun say anything like this happened last year when she wrote one for him?”

“No, all three people who asked her got one.”

“Oh, so it’s just us she hates. Great!” you throw your hands up, sinking deeper in the chair. Maybe it’ll swallow you whole and the entire ordeal will cease to exist.

“She’s probably just trying to get in our heads so we don’t slack off this semester.”

“Have we ever slacked off any semester? I’ve been on the President’s Honor List since freshman year. You’ve been on the President’s Honor List since freshman year. We’re those people.”

Since starting college, since that one night during orientation where you and Wonwoo became a ‘we’. Not in the relationship sense, but in the way two lines merge. Same path, same goals, same classes, same PhD program prospects. There was plenty you two did separately but more you did together. Neither competing, but working together. 

But now that’s over.

Because only one of you can get into Dr. Collins lab, only one of you can get the recommendation, and only one of you can have what you both worked tirelessly for over the past three years.

“Listen—” you stand up and scrub at your own face. “It’ll be fine. We’ll figure it out.”

“We? Only one of us can get her recommendation. What’s there to figure out?”

Your face goes hot. He’s right. “Well, I need that recommendation.”

“So do I,” Wonwoo argues, eyes cold.

“Fine.”

That recommendation is mine.

“Fine!”

We’ll see about that.

Wonwoo stays in her office, flinching as you slam the door and flee.

The issue with fighting with Wonwoo is that as mad as both of you are, there are a million responsibilities you share that require close proximity.

Presently, it’s grading the last batch of exams. Seventy eight packets. And because Dr. Wagner doesn’t believe in convenience, it all has to be graded by the hand of two TAs running on nothing but caffeine and spite.

Which means it’s past midnight and the couch has a permanent impression of Wonwoo’s ass while you both silently fume and scratch through wrong answers with a heavy hand in red ink.

The weather reflects the atmosphere; pouring rain and thunder loud enough to shake the windows. The power has flickered in and out since the rain started but you're both too stubborn to call it quits – if there is nothing to keep you occupied then you might rip his throat out.

Wonwoo doesn’t even ask if you want more coffee before he snags your empty mug and moves to the kitchenette. You don’t look up when he sets it back down, and only grab it and take the first sip of perfectly steaming hot sweetness when he flops back on the couch without another word. 

Then the power goes out again, and doesn’t come back.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Using the flashlight on your phone, you search the drawers of your desk for candles. There nowhere to be found amongst the stacks of unopened sticky notes and tangled cords. 

Wonwoo shuffles behind you, papers landing on the coffee table completely abandoned. “We’ve been at this for hours. Let’s just go to sleep.”

“I have them in here somewhere,” you bite, another handful of chargers and a stapled you’ve never used and other things you didn’t even realize you own fill the drawer. You move to the second. “There’s only a few tests left.”

“We can do them tomorrow. It can wait.”

“No,” you spit like a curse.

Whatever Wonwoo was planning to say dies on his lips. “Fine.” 

His shirt lands over your head, you rip it off only to find him half naked in the dark, huddling under one of the throw blankets you keep on the back of the couch. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sleeping.”

“On the couch?” 

“Yep.”

“You’re too tall.”

“Well,” he draws like a pouty kid. “I don’t feel like sharing the bed with you.”

In a way it’s safer to argue about something trivial like this versus the entire reason you’ve iced each other out since that day in her office. Because at least like this, you won’t lose him. It’s stupid and petty but at least you’re speaking to each other; breaking through that wall of silence that’s been steadily growing more and more unnavigable as the inevitable draws nearer.

“Fine, then I’ll sleep on the couch and you take the bed.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. N. O.”

Fine.

It’s difficult to navigate in the dark. Your knees end up a victim to the edge of the coffee table and you trip over the edge of the rug, but you find the couch. Reaching down, you find his chest, then his shoulder. And once you’re sufficiently oriented you sit on him.

“Ow,” Wonwoo grunts as you flop down, elbow in his gut and his chin hitting your forehead. “What are you doing?”

You wedge in closer, slipping between his body and the cushions, bracing to kick him off by force if needed. “Sleeping.”

“Here?” he asks. Too aware of your plan, he turns as well, grabbing the back of the couch overhead to stay put.

“You’re too tall to sleep here.”

“And we’re both too big to sleep here together. Take the bed.”

“No,” you huff.

“No?”

“No. N.O. I believe you’re familiar with the word,” you spit.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“If you keep talking then neither of us will sleep.”

“Neither of us are gonna sleep anyway. You move too much to be comfortable like this.”

He’s right of course. Your hips already ache but if you move then he’ll find some way to pull you off. “I’m fine.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

You do the mature thing and bite him. 

The muscles corded around his pec twitch under your mouth as he flinches. “What the hell was that for?” 

You do it again.

“Stop.”

“Or what?” you ask, muffled in his skin as you move to leave another bite.

Wonwoo also does the mature thing and pins your wrists in one hand, maneuvering until you're sandwiched between the couch with his chest flat to your back.

“I can’t breathe like this,” you muffle into the cushions.

“Oh, how tragic.” You feel his words tickle the back of your neck rather than hear them. 

Wonwoo releases your wrists pinned to your stomach. His hand finds its way under your shirt, his shirt from some stupid frat fundraiser you’d been coerced into attending, flat to your belly with soothing circles. His calf hooks over your own to tangle your bodies together. He kisses the back of your neck, a simple brush of his lips that lingers.

It’s easier to feel everything in the dark. Your annoyance and frustration forged over the past weeks melts away and all that’s left is the need to have Wonwoo close. Just like this. Where there are no deadlines, or responsibilities. Where you both can drown in each others’ presence and everything else is washed away in the heavy drops pounding the windows outside.

Here, everything is uncomplicated.

The next rumble of thunder is loud enough to send you both in the air. Unfortunately, Wonwoo drags you backwards off the couch and to the floor. You land relatively unscathed but he knocks his elbow into the coffee table.

“Are you okay?”

Wonwoo groans and curses, cradling his elbow.

“Aw, tell the doctor where it hurts,” you coo, prodding his side.

He snatches your hand and pins it to his chest but not before lacing his fingers through your own. The gentle rise of and fall of breathing and the thud of his heart reverberates down your arm and straight into your own chest where something frozen softens. “Has anyone told you you’re annoying when you’re tired?”

“Yes. You. Lots of times.”

“Good. Wanna make sure you’re aware.”

Lighting turns everything white, a quick flash highlighting the room. There and gone and leaving you more disoriented than before. Rolling over, you hook a thigh over his lap which he welcomes, tugging you closer and absorbing the proximity like second nature. You’re a glutton for warmth –  Wonwoo’s warmth specifically – even in his sweater and his sweat shorts and his shirt, you still want more of him.

“We can’t sleep like this.”

You don’t want to move – laying like this, in the dark, nose dug into his chest as you twisting your fingers in his, squeezing and glowing pathetically when he squeezes back – all you want is to drown in him a little longer. Until you're forced to come up for breath.

But the sore spot between you two is still raw like a fresh bruise.

“Then sleep in the bed,” his lips drags over your knuckles as he speaks.

“No. You sleep in the bed, you’re too tall to sleep on the couch.”

“Fine.” Wonwoo jumps up from his place on the floor, grabbing your hands once again before dragging you around the coffee table towards the opposite side of the room. It’s ridiculously childish, especially in the dark where he bounces off the desk and the rug roughens the back of your legs.

He shimmies you around a corner and a cloud of laughter puffs between your lips. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sleeping in the bed, and you’re sleeping in the bed with me.”

“What if I don’t want to sleep next to you?”

“Then I’ll cry. Like that time we watched Steel Magnolias.”

“Have mercy,” you whimper.

“Then get your ass in bed.”

Deflating like a balloon, you stand. Wonwoo keeps his hands on you the entire time, guiding you down to the mattress and covering your body with his own just in case of an escape. He bunkers down in the safety of your neck, dragging your hands to his hair, mimicking the motions he craves until you take up the action and gently comb through the tangles.

A part of you wants to cry. Preemptively mourn the end of this – whatever this is. Late nights with Wonwoo, whispering in the dark about clueless underclassmen and annoying professors. Taking turns scrolling through adoptable cats at the local rescue. Cooing over them, rolling your eyes when Wonwoo finds Pixel still listed as available for adoption, a sign to him that he’s meant to have her except he lives in a frat house. Or the nights neither of you can sleep and take a trip to the local diner and tuck yourselves away in a corner booth to watch drunk people cling to consciousness over waffles and hash browns. 

There will be no more of that. Not by the time winter break comes. One of you is getting the gold ticket and the other will be up in the air with the hundreds of other people competing for the same handful of slots. And if one of you doesn't get in? 

“Was that so hard?” he whispers into your collar.

When you don’t answer, he looks up at. In the cast of lighting coming through the window he’s the same Wonwoo. The one you’ve been best friends with for years now. The one who is practically glued to your side whenever possible. 

The one who you’ll have to say goodbye to.

He meets your kiss lazily. Like he still thinks you have all the time in the world.

It makes the urge to cry that much worse.

The rain is gone by morning. 

The room glows from the orange light of the first minutes of sunrise. Sometime in the night you rolled to your side and Wonwoo pressed tight to your back. He’s awake, drawing shapes on your hip beneath the fabric of your shirt.

“Morning.” 

You hum and roll over to burrow in his chest, the crown of your head digging into his neck and away from the sun. “Morning.”

The warmth of his hands trace the curve of your back, pulling you closer; hiding his own discontent with such an early break in the tentative truce that only seems to exist in the late hours of night and earliest minutes of dawn. Days of sleep deprivation with nothing but sterile lighting in the lab leaves you both needy and vulnerable. So he hugs you tighter and sighs when you do the same.

He’s hard against your thigh. Clearly a result of biology more than need because he’s snoring against your hairline. Flashes of dreams rush forward – him beneath you, on top of you, behind you. It’s been weeks since you two last fucked. When you called him an idiot and he called you stubborn and next thing you were on the table with your legs spread for Wonwoo’s hand in a clumsy bump and grind while arguing about which one of you fucked up the biosensor callibration through gritted teeth and needy whimpers.

You’re wet. With his thigh pressed between your own the fact becomes more evident as the urge to curl into it nags.

Taking advantage of the exposed curve of skin beneath your mouth, you kiss and suck with lax intent until Wonwoo tips his chin up and gives a silent green light.

A heavy hand drags down his front, nails scratching bluntly through the fabric until it can slip beneath the waistband of his sweats and the curve of his cock sits pretty in your palm. Commando for convenience and comfort. More the latter because there’s no shot in hell he’s been getting laid lately.

His breath is sticky in his throat, vibrating beneath your teeth from thin pants as you work him through a loose fist. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” he huffs. “Yes.”

Slouching down, your head rests on his stomach, sweatpants bunched around his thighs. The first lick sends his hips up in search of more and you eagerly supply the soft suction of your mouth; lips catching around the flared head. A hand on the back of your skull keeps your hair from interfering as he plumps against your tongue. 

Eagerness fails to penetrate this moment slowed down by the greater need to drag this out. To savor every second because who knows when you’ll both stop being petty enough to just enjoy one another’s presence again.

“Might cum—fuck— don’t stop,” he grunts.

With the sun filling the room even more you’re running out of time, the warmth growing to leave sweat at the small of your back. He pushes harder into the curve of your throat and you let him, gagging wet with a lewd mix of spit and pre-cum that has you both moaning at the choked sound. Jaw slack, Wonwoo fucks your mouth with slow ruts; stomach tightening and the hand in your hair fisting tight enough you moan.

“Shit, babe—c-cumming,” he whines with a pathetic groan you’d make fun of him for later but all you can think about is the thick taste of cum and if there’s enough time for some attention between your own legs before life becomes unignorable. Not enough time for a real fuck but Wonwoo has a few tricks up his sleeve that promise satisfaction.

You bounce back down next to him and Wonwoo pounces, rolling on top of you, thing between your spread legs. He doesn’t shy away from your tongue against his teeth, dips a thumb beneath your chin and slips his tongue right along with it, sucks your lips until the swell, backing off only to bunch your shirt up. Lazy drags of his mouth on yours – not the ‘I need you’ kisses after a late night but the ‘I miss you’ ones after weeks of passive aggressive silence.

He licks down your front, goosebumps blooming from the draft as he sucks a nipple until you arch and twist a hand in his hair. You give a lax stretch and sigh while his hand slips beneath the edge of your panties.

Taking the morning for what it is, you fall into the motions until the blare of the alarm clock signals the beginning of the end.

You push away and swipe blindly at the night stand to make it stop but Wonwoo has other plans. 

He pins your hips down, tongue flat to the crotch of your underwear with a pant. “Ignore it.”

“What?” You look at him and find tired eyes watching back from over the edge of your wrinkled shirt. His hair is a mess, stuck to the side of his head from sleep and your eager hands and all you want to do is comb the tangles out while he pulls your strings like a puppet master.

But you can’t.

“We’ve got class,” you gasp through a hot kiss on your clit.

A groggy groan of, “skip,” vibrates on your skin.

Fingers curling in the sheets, you grasp for disagreement only to find a moan as he pulls your hips closer and works a finger where you need it most.

“We can’t.”

“We can,” Wonwoo grunts, focusing on peppering greedy kisses to the sensitive insides of your thighs. “We’ve been early every time this semester.”

The hand not curling in your guts runs down the back of your calf, bending until it hooks over his shoulder.

“Fuck, Wonu,” you whine over the crude sounds of his mouth. You want to. God, do you want to. But you open your eyes again and they land on the stack of exams on your desk. Ungraded. Because Wonwoo said you could do them this morning. And now he wants you to skip class despite how important it is. 

You close your legs only for Wonwoo to take it as a challenge, pinning your hips in place and celebrating his perceived victory with a throaty moan as he rocks against the bed.

“Stop.”

He pulls back, mouth wet and brows furrowed. “Huh?”

The alarm on your phone pings again. Swiftly silenced this time as you roll out from beneath him and land beside the mattress on unsteady feet. “We can’t skip. We have to give exams back.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he argues, flopping down into the warmth you left vacant.

The room is too bright, a clear sign your morning routine is behind. “You think now is the time to start slacking off?”

“It’s not slacking off.” Wonwoo snags his glasses. He looks more annoyed with them. “It’s a break. You clearly need one.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Just forget it. I’m not arguing with you about stupid shit.”

“And what's stupid shit? The job we signed up for? With the professor who controls our futures?”

Wonwoo fixes his pants and rolls out of bed. On the opposite side. As far away from you as possible. “Whatever.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

“Good!”

“Good!”

You slam the bathroom door shut with finality. When you come back out, any trace of Wonwoo is long gone.

There aren’t many people in class. A benefit of Halloweekend is the partying starts Wednesday and doesn’t stop until the following week. Even with last night's rain plenty of students are battling hangovers which leaves a third of the usual lecture attendance to witness you and Wonwoo go head to head while Dr. Wagner sits at home with a mysterious illness she announced in an email three minutes after nine AM.

The few that are there snag their papers, lips curled in disgust at the plethora of red ink spilled on white pages. Their own faults for not paying attention during lecture but maybe the scarlet gashes were a little dramatic. Wonwoo’s jaw is tight, pointedly ignoring you except to hand exams over that someone is waiting for with dread in their eyes. 

You could’ve skipped. It wouldn’t even count as skipping because class is canceled and there’s no award for hauling ass at the crack of dawn when your advisor isn’t even here to see it. You could be tucked away in your apartment with him under your skin; firmly in the place between dreams and waking where you liked him best, nothing but warm skin and rough hands with his lips on your hairline and your head burrowed in his chest. 

There are too many witnesses to just drop the act and wrap your arms around him from behind until he gives in. Apologize for the stupid shit he rightfully called you out on. But as your courage grows with each student’s exit, Wonwoo makes to leave before you can make use of it. 

Barely an hour of fighting and it already feels like an eternity.

“Hey,” you call.

He freezes by one of the desks near the back of the room, like he’s shocked you’re even there in the first place. But he doesn’t turn around; just tilts his head so you know he’s listening even if he doesn’t want to.

“Sorry about this morning. I-I think the stress is getting to me.”

And the fact that I can’t be mad at anyone besides the universe for this incredibly shitty situation. And I miss you. Even when you’re right next to me.

“Okay.”

“That’s it?” you fidget with the strap of your bag; a million pounds heavier even without the weight of ungraded tests that Wonwoo snatched before you could divide the remaining work.

He turns around, eying you with an exasperated look. “What else should I say? You called me a slack off and implied I don’t do my job.”

“I didn’t,” you argue but it’s salt in the wound because—

“You did.”

“But—”

“It’s fine. I’ll finish grading the exams over the weekend.”

And then you're alone.

You’re alone in the study room you both usually occupy to work on the Nanochemistry project due at the end of term. The shared document has updates, the blink of his cursor mocking your from wherever he hunkered down. Away from you. The temptation to type ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again disappears once he logs out barely a minute after you logged on.

You’re alone at the circulation desk of the library through your shift, head whipping around to every squeak and cough only to find someone who isn’t Wonwoo. There’s an email from him, to Dr. Wagner with you CC’ed, about class averages and exam questions that should be thrown out.

You walk home alone. Other students in various states of dress and intoxication crowd the sidewalks, a few you recognize but they feel a million miles away.

Alone in your apartment, the two mugs from last night clean in the sink.

The good part of being alone is when you start crying, no one is there to see.

It’s near midnight and the chill of the breeze whipping down the street bites at your exposed skin. Already the should-be-condemned frat house pulses with life, the promise of a long night ahead thrumming through the symphony of drunk screams and music.

It’s not unusual for you to attend frat parties. Wonwoo’s favor guarantees free booze and a perch at the top of the staircase where underclassmen are barred from entering. But you’ll settle for watching drunk underclassman stumbling over the front lawn from one of the couches on the front porch (which are so broken in, no one sinks into the cushions – they just fall straight down until the worn springs catch them) because the inside of the house is too hot, and too crowded, and far too loud. 

A hail Mary apology is the only thing on your mind. Yesterday had been the nastiest spat in recent history between you two; notwithstanding sophomore year when Jeonghan asked you for tutoring and Wonwoo insisted on helping. “Helping” meant cutting off every question Jeonghan dared ask with a series of snorts and huffs until you left and refused to talk to him for a week.

He’d apologized in the most Wonwoo fashion – completing your Thermodynamics assignments for the rest of the semester and before going down on you until you threatened to kick him in the head through sensitive sobs.

Wonwoo is here – somewhere. Shuffling up the past, past the line of eager party goers looking for a way in, you scan the front porch, he’s not in his usual waiting spot to whisk you upstairs where the older members hang out with better drinks and better music. Not that he would be. He doesn’t even know you considered coming to this.

Instead, poor Chan, dressed in yellow and black stripes, mans the door with pilot Jihoon by his side.

“Jihoon,” you greet, before looking at the younger man. “Speed bump.”

Chan mumbles something under his breath but lays on the ground regardless. When Wonwoo went through the same hazing you only got a few chances to enjoy the ridiculousness before he dragged you upstairs and shut you up himself.

“Can you not torment the kids?” Jihoon grunts.

“I could. But, where’s the fun in that?” 

“Your boyfriend is inside. If you see Jun, tell him it’s his turn to watch the door.”

“Got it.”

Stepping over the underclassman still laying on the ground, you head inside and straight for the packed kitchen to get a drink. There’s barely any space between the hoard of bodies, forcing you to shuffle forward everytime there's a gap in the crowd; but it’s more like swimming against a rip tide. 

It’s difficult to see with nothing but a few strobe lights and some strings of Christmas lights to clear the dark. One glance up towards the upper landing of the staircase is all it takes to find him right next to Mingyu. Matching costume, two bean poles standing out from the crowd of shorter men. Mingyu makes a brief nod in your direction but before you can see Wonwoo turn you’re off into the kitchen.

It’s an even tighter fit in here. A pledge pours drinks from a cooler, for a brief second you’re tempted to indulge. The last time you did, freshman year, you ended up crying in Wonwoo’s room mid-hookup. You scan the slim pickings and settle on an unopened beer. The shots you took while getting ready are already catching up.

Forced between anxious isolation and drinking, a few of your friends come up and briefly make conversation. You feign interest, eying over their heads for a familiar mop of dark hair without success.

A few guys stop to compliment your costume. They give themselves away in glazed heavily lidded stares, single minded focus on your legs. They ask what your major is, boast their status as pledges to your disinterested grimace, and move on when you finally put them out of their misery and fib about your “boyfriend” being “president or something” but “I don’t pay attention to those things,” and they all disappear significantly paler than when they first appeared.

You bite the bullet of your pride and turn to leave, only to find Wonwoo barely an inch away.

His eyes burn over your figure, the short toga covering just enough for you to avoid public indecency. Good. It’s the entire reason you wore this stupid costume in the first place. He’s a horny loser for nerdy shit and this is the best thing you could’ve worn other than one of those video game character costumes forcing your boobs in your throat and leaving you at serious risk for public indecency.

It’s not the first time you’ve wrapped yourself in barely enough fabric to constitute an outfit for the sake of his forgiveness and it probably won’t be the last.

Wonwoo pins you to the counter with his hips, hands bracketing your figure on either side. The green hat with an ‘L’ is lopsided on his head but at least he didn’t wear the fake mustache. “So, what is your costume?” he hums into the space just below your ear with a kiss.

“Guess.” You tilt your chin, cocky.

“And if I get it right?” he asks, lips at your ear.

Heart pound, you ditch the beer and reach for his hips with purpose. “Whatever you want.”

“Dangerous words.”

“Think of it as my apology for being a huge bitch yesterday.” 

He sighs into your neck, arms tight around your waist in a loose semblance of a hug. It’s a farce. Your ass meets the counter with minor effort and Wonwoo claims the space between your legs before you can pretend to object.

He still hasn’t kissed you.

You want more than kisses. You want to feel him, all of him. Want to drag him to the living room serving as a makeshift dance floor and sink into the heat of his body pressed flat against your own for everyone to see. You want to pull him into that closet off the main hall, familiar from that hot night of freshman year when a drunk make out turned into a timid fingering and eventually Wonwoo handing over his first time on a silver platter. Or even run back to your apartment, pluck through the leftover Halloween candy you bought on discount and watch whatever horror movie has become his recent obsession. You just want him.

“Mingyu thought you were Socrates.”

Pressed this close on the sticky counter, his body is the only thing protecting what little of your dignity is left. Even then, there's enough of the slippery warmth of alcohol to tempt you into rutting against him right here for those stupid pledges to see. “Mingyu is an idiot.”

“Clearly,” he chuckles. “The rubber chicken gave it away.”

You shake it at eye level. “Behold, man.”

“Lame,” his kissing gets bold down the shaft of your neck, teeth scraping your collarbone.

“Oh please, I feel your boner.”

He doesn’t resist you when you nuzzle along the bare parts of his neck, a tease of soft kissing usually reserved for quiet moments tucked away in your apartment. Even in the chaos of the party, body heat turning the air uncomfortably warm, you crave more of his closeness. 

His hands feel nice on your legs. None of the timid gentleness of years prior when he’d touch you like it’d burn if he wanted it too much; trailing higher and higher but never under the short hem of the bedsheet turned dress. His fingers flex into the muscle at the outside of your thigh, hook behind your knees and drag you to the edge of the counter. 

You're sweating through your own skin when he kisses you. 

The need in your gut blooms at full force. Your mouth loosens, welcoming his tongue and teeth and whatever else he’s generous enough to give while you tug at the loose fabric around his hips to force more close proximity; the zipper of his pants is hot against your core and if you fucked him right here it wouldn’t look that different than the PG-13 make out happening right now. 

“Wanna show me your room?” You blink like some moony eyed freshman, glassy, pupils blown from vivid images of all the possibilities in the solitude upstairs. Wonwoo is fine with the game of whatever your apology entails even if it means you throw cheesy lines like that.

He ushers you off the counter, flat to your back as he pushes through the crowd with you ahead. Even in a drunken haze people part out of his way because of the mastery of resting bitch face only he seems to have despite the complaint putty that lies behind it. A private smile splits your lips. He can’t be that mad. Not with how he pulls you closer, in the protective way he so often does in the buzz of a single minded crowd with more alcohol in their veins than blood. 

Mingyu is standing on the landing. Girls in scraps of fabric eye him up and down, even in his stupid costume with the mustache but he ignores them in favor of pouting straight into a red cup.

“Why is your boyfriend moping?” 

“Fuck if I know.” Wonwoo focuses on sucking another bruise on your neck like no one's watching. 

You’re loose enough not to care about Mingyu’s annoyance as Wonwoo ushers you by. “Cheer up buttercup, I’m sure there’s a Peach here into charity fucks!” 

It’s meant to be encouraging, but Mingyu looks like he’s torn between strangling you and throwing himself over the banister.

Maybe you did lie about being Wonwoo’s girlfriend, but he is president and his room is the biggest and furthest away from chaos. Up on the top floor where the music isn’t as loud and the only people on this floor are other members and their guests for the night.

Wonwoo pushes you inside, kicking the door shut loud enough you wince before crowding you against the wood. You throw his hat away somewhere into the darkness, hand twisted in his hair as he kisses you. Sloppy and gross until he rocks into the softness of your stomach, gasoline on the flame.

“Turn around.”

He barely gives you enough space to do so, pressing you flat once again, cheek squished to the door and a rough pull at your waist. 

“If you’re thinking about touching my asshole, don’t. I have shit to do tomorrow,” you warn. 

On the other side of the door you hear footsteps but they pass by without stopping.

“Noted, but not what I’m going for,” he jokes. 

Your skirt flips up and a draft against the damp crotch of your panties sends a tremor straight through your core. “Share with the class.”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I’m shaking in my toga.”

“And you call me a loser.”

“I can call you some other things,” you grit, pushing back into the heat of his covered cock. “They aren’t as nice though.”

“Yeah, yeah. Take your panties off.” 

He’s a little bit of a freak. Sometimes he enjoys fucking you in nothing but your underwear and others he wants you in everything but. Maybe because of how this entire thing started; when you wouldn’t even take your bra off and he survived on the barest flash of nipple.

The flimsy soiled fabric barely passes your knees before he’s on you again, easily tempted by the arch of your spine. You hum content as he presses a finger into your cunt, then two. His other hand forces the neckline of your dress down and lo-and-behold your lack of bra delights like you knew it would.

Whatever bright idea that fluttered in Wonwoo’s brain is forgotten as he spins you back around for an eyeful of naked skin; a mouthful of your chest and your leg hooked around his hip for a pathetic dry hump into the heel of his hand.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan with extra emphasis and a caved stomach because there’s teeth and he makes it hurt. “Kiss me.”

Another rut into your thigh and his teeth are back at your bottom lip. It’s not exactly what you anticipated when you showed up tonight but there are far worse places than having a doorknob in your back while Wonwoo leaves a hickey below your ear; a perfectly good bed ten feet away but neither of you can be bothered to move much more than forcing Wonwoo’s pants down enough his cock leaks in your grip, head nestled at your entrance.

You surprise him by sinking to your knees. Head tipped back against the door, you tilt your mouth open to welcome him on your tongue. Wonwoo stares down at you; tits out, hand between your legs as you suck his cock in quick motions until he takes over and fucks into the curve of your throat. 

“Holy s-shit,” he hisses and you flatten your tongue to help him along. It feels good; seeing him reduced to so little just from the wet suck of your mouth on him. 

A choked gag forces Wonwoo back into his body, hips curving away so you can swallow air before leaving a sloppy kiss on the tip. Seizing him in a tight grip, you use the spit to jerk him off until he cringes with another pathetic moan. 

Someone giggles in the hallway, close enough you both hear. They’re far enough away you can still whisper to Wonwoo. “Remember that time we fucked in here last year?” 

“When you almost got us killed?”

Last year, at the same party, when you showed up in a skin tight Shego costume, Wonwoo pulled you to the only available room: Seungcheol’s. It’d been hot. Fucking when you aren’t supposed to, having Seungcheol pound at the door while Wonwoo came down your throat (no condoms and no hope to clean up).

“Do it again.”

His hand creeps into a loose collar around the base of your throat. You keep rubbing between your legs, working up a slick slide until your nails dig into the skin of his thighs.

“Really?” There’s no need for muffling the noise when it's his room and the only people at risk of hearing anything have done far worse. He pulls you to your feet, forces your cheek against the door and slides right behind you. Like he was made for you.

“Choke me,” you gasp before digging into the sick part of your brain that likes seeing him strung out, extra breathy just to see his eyes go wide. “Sir.”

Your skin sticks to the door, shamefully squeezed as he drags his cock through the mess of your pussy. “You can’t just say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because—”

“Because what?” you goad. “Gonna punish me?”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you? Show up wearing this,” he grits, tugging at the white fabric bunched around your waist, using the hand on your throat to squeeze your cheeks tight with authority you drool for.  “Asking to be choked and now you probably want me to spank you and call you a good girl.”

You grunt through the raw thrust at your gut, sending your head back from sheer enthusiasm. “N–not my fault you fuck me so good.” 

Wonwoo almost can’t control himself, hearing nothing but praise fall from your mouth as he fucks you limp against the door. “God.”

Someone screams, “Leave room for Jesus!” from the other side of the door and you almost rip it open to kill them if Wonwoo wasn’t dragging you to the bed. 

He folds you onto your front, both standing at the foot of the bed. A deep roll of his hips and you’re filled completely. 

“O-oh, fuck me,” you moan, uncaring if the idiot outside the door is still listening. Wonwoo has a hell of a hand and puts it to use against the curve of your ass. The coil in your gut pulls taunt as he delivers one after another.

He fucks deeper, a the hand not burn against your bottom between your shoulders. “You look so good— ah —taking my cock like this.” His voice waivers with the same stunted rhythm of his hips. 

“W-want,” you choke on spit, drooling into the comforter. “Wanna taste you.”

The animalist need to suck both your flavors off his cock nearly sends you into a fit but Wonwoo’s there, hooking his hand back around the front of your neck with a subtle squeeze. You want the stupid dress off, you want Wonwoo’s clothes off, you want to fuck him where there’s no one around to catcall in the hallway like twelve year old boys. Want. Want. Want.

What you get is enough pressure from his fingers that your mind blanks. Wonwoo gets a tight enough squeeze on his cock that he’s forced to a grinding halt. 

Then his rhythm goes deeper, harder. Course curls against the resistance of your ass until you almost collapse against the edge of the bed. His cock hits that spot like it was made for your body. “Touch yourself.”

You comply without further command. You’re wet, soaked, arousal smeared down your thighs from Wonwoo’s treatment. Your fingers bump against his length as you match the pace of his strokes. “Fuck, Wonwoo — hmmm.” 

“Tell me how it feels,” he gasps like it’s his first breath in hours.

“Wet, so wet,” you croon, arching harder, joints locking. “Gonna cum. Oh my god.”

He reaches low, grabbing your hand from between your thighs and pulling it to his mouth for a taste. His tongue slides between your digits, liquid slick with a soft suction your crave on your clit. 

“Beg for it.” Wonwoo bites your shoulder hard enough you cry. 

Stuffing your hand back between your legs, you play with your clit clumsily. Until pink crowds the edge of your vision and it hurts. “Please, please! I need—Want it. Wanna come for you. Please, sir.”

Wonwoo strains to hear your pleas over the clap of bodies. He’s worked you near the middle of the bed, practically laying on top of you as he fucks in quick succession. 

“Harder, fuck me,” you demand. “Yes, yes, y–yes!”

If you were on top you’d fall straight off, jerking tightly under Wonwoo’s weight, turning your face to greet his tongue between your teeth and mewling sensitivity. He doesn’t show mercy, continuing to fuck you through the worst of it.

“Holy shit,” you whimper, head throbbing. Wonwoo forces you back on your knees and you fight through sore muscles and sensitivity to preen under the weight behind his hips. 

“Can I come in you?” he asks in a shivery breath.

You nod with closed eyes, tugging the hand around your throat to your lips and sucking his fingers like it’s a cock. He finishes with a choked breath, flooding your insides with sticky warmth you’ve never gotten used to in all the months you’ve fucked without condoms. 

His breath fans against the nape of your neck, another swivel of his hips from the sensitivity. Your walls squeeze as Wonwoo pulls away. 

You roll onto your back with a bounce, Wonwoo jostling you when he joins. Shoulder to shoulder, you stare up at the ceiling while catching your breath. “Do you think you’ll pop a boner when your students call you a sir next year?”

Wonwoo heaves a long breath, amusement in his voice. “I come inside you and that's the first thing you think of?”

Immediately you regret the joke. Since Dr. Wagner’s announcement weeks ago neither of you had broached on the topic of what happens after graduation. Mostly from fear. But also because it’s a long discussion you’re not exactly sure what you want out of.

“Answer the question.”

“I hope not.”

The bed shifts beneath your knees as you crowd over Wonwoo, laying with his arms behind him to keep from sinking flat. The tired lines of his face look deeper in the lamp light. He’s nothing more than a big softie that wants to cuddle half naked in his bed while you play with his hair until sleep finds its place.

“It’s our last Halloween party.”

“Wow, just like old times,” you snort. “Should I start crying? Then it’ll be just like freshman year all over.”

Wonwoo laughs, his hand snatching yours and lacing your fingers together. “You wore a bra and bunny ears freshman year so if you’re gonna whip that out too – by all means.”

“God, we were so lame,” you announce matter of factly. Crying in lingerie and animal ears in one of the supply closets downstairs all because—

“Don’t rope me into that, miss ‘crying-because-she-didn’t-know-how-to-suck-dick’.” Wonwoo rolls on top of you, hoping to silence whatever argument bubbling in response with a teasing press of his lips. You're still sticky with sweat and spit and cum, nipples and pussy out and the thought of his dick, limp against your thigh, makes you sensitive all over.

“That’s former miss ‘crying-because-she-didn’t-know-how-to-suck-dick’,” you trail off into his mouth. “And you’re one to talk. Remember the time you cried about how happy you were that we were friends.”

He bites your lip in retaliation. “I didn’t.”

“You did. I have the video from Mingyu.”

“I thought he was an idiot.”

“He is but he’s good for blackmail.”

You might consider staying the night if he keeps tracing his nose along the arch of your collarbone. But a shrill giggle and some pornographic moans ring through the walls of the neighboring room. Not the side Seungkwan occupies. Hoshi’s. And it’s only the start.

“We can’t sleep here.”

Wonwoo collapses, tugging you with him. “I can’t ditch again, I’m on pledge duty.”

“You’re hiding in your room with me.”

“Okay, technically I’m on pledge duty.”

He wouldn’t stay here if he wasn’t required. Wonwoo hates party nights, especially Halloween. Too many variables requiring all hands on deck; too many needy people demanding his presence for some issue that could’ve been handled if they used their brain to think farther than the tip of their nose. Rarely, if ever, does he sleep in his own bed when you have a perfectly good one tucked away in a private apartment without thirty other men tripping over each other. 

“Well, I’m not sleeping with that.” On cue, another whimper, clearly a man’s, breaks through the tentative silence. Are they fuck against the shared wall?

Wonwoo sighs, scrubbing his face before moving for his phone. “I’ll send one of the kids to walk you.”

“Wow, a pledge escort. How thoughtful,” you sneer.

He huffs again, unwilling to start a fight that’ll leave neither of you satisfied. “Text me when you get home.”

You don’t.

There is an unspoken habit between you and Wonwoo that Sunday mornings are spent at the only reasonably priced coffee shop just near your apartment. A charming hole in the wall, with hanging shelves displaying layers of tchotchkes, paintings lining whatever free space between them, and wobbly tables with equally unbalanced chairs. It’s always packed because the coffee is decent and they have outlets. After last night, you hope he’s too exhausted to even think about showing up.

Mugs click against dark lacquered tables, the dull murmur of conversation churns over the music swelling softly through the speakers. The smell of pastries and espresso wake you enough to slide into a vacant table in the corner and set to work. 

Or you would’ve if someone didn’t sit down first.

“Oh.”

Wonwoo already has a mug and a little brown bag as he looks up at where you stand dumbly.

“I can just go…sit somewhere else…” You turn to leave, except there are no other tables. Couples and groups claim every single seat except the one across from Wonwoo.

“Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know, probably because I’m mad at you.”

He unpacks his laptop, shaking his head. “You’re not mad at me.”

“Yes, I am,” you emphasize. 

“You’re a bad liar.”

Neither of you are good at lying. Even worse at fighting. Incapable of committing to real anger when it takes all your energy to stand up straight and not fall asleep in a pile of ungraded papers and half finished assignments. Besides, you're only pouting because he passed up a night at your place to clean up pledge vomit. 

You can’t tame the annoyed grin cracking your face.  “Fine, I’m not that mad at you. Buy my forgiveness in the form of coffee.”

“Too much caffeine will kill you.”

“I can only hope,” you sigh, arms cradling your head against the hard wood of the table while he joins the queue at the register.

Wonwoo orders your drink and a cheesy pastry the size of your head, the smell of greasy carbs first thing in the morning softening the ice in your veins. He knows your weaknesses too well. 

“Is this penance?” 

“Something like that.” He tears the crispiest corner off and pops it into his mouth.

“Did you look at the study guide for Calc yet?”

Two hours later you approach the counter for a second round of coffee and snag one of the jammy tarts Wonwoo likes but rarely buys for himself. Whatever chaffs between you two melts under the constant stream of note checking; Wonwoo’s hand on your knee under the table helps too. 

“If I look at this anymore, I’ll run into traffic.”

“We’ve got the Nano project that needs some work,” you suggest. 

He stretches wide, a sliver of skin visible between the hem of his sweater and the band of sweat pants. “I’ve got practice in an hour. We can do it tonight when I’m done.”

You try not to stare and instead return to focusing on the screen of your laptop burning your retinas.“I’m tutoring Seungkwan.”

“After?”

“He’s gonna be a bitch and the last thing I wanna do is look at more school stuff.”

“Then no school stuff,” he decrees with finality. “I’ll bring mushroom pad thai from that place on Market.”

“Are you trying to bribe your way in?”

“Is it working?”

You hum a dismissal but watch him through your lashes. He looks good – washed in late afternoon glow, hair a mess with glasses and a sweater that hangs off his shoulders. It all screams ‘drag me to bed and nap the rest of the day’ which is trouble for you because you still want to be mad at him if only to see how fair he’s willing to go for your forgiveness.

“We can watch Yellowjackets,” he barters, packing his bag.

Another group eyes your table with hope to claim it the second it’s available. Sadly, your ass is firmly planted for the rest of the afternoon. With or without Wonwoo.

“You’re really trying to butter me up, aren’t you?”

“I cannot sleep in that house,” he deadpans. “Please take mercy.”

“Oh, so you’re just using me for a place to sleep. Even after I wore that stupid Halloween costume?”

He pauses, eyes glazing like it’s a distant memory and not less than twenty four hours ago. “You looked hot.”

“You made that pretty clear.”

“Anyway, I’ll come over after practice. You can bitch about Seungkwan until you pass out.”

“Fine, but if there is no pad thai then don’t come.”

“Whatever my woman demands,” he snorts, dropping a kiss to your lips before turning towards the door.

Two hours and another coffee later, Seungkwan occupies Wonwoo’s abandoned chair. There’s no reason for him to be taking an intro chem class as a Creative Writing major other than the fact he’s a bit of a masochist. He’s not half bad at it and doesn’t really need any tutoring but you get paid for showing up even if it’s complete silence as you pick your nails until he needs something.

You’re marking through his latest attempt when he finally speaks up, “You're dating Wonwoo, right?”

Red pen scratches through the edge of the paper. “What?”

“You and Wonwoo.”

What is the absolute configuration of the two carbon atoms in this compound? More red ink.

“What about me and Wonwoo?”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes with exasperation, like you’re on the outs of some obvious joke. “Dating.”

If an alkene has 24 hydrogen atoms, how many carbon atoms does it contain? Another X.

“No.”

“Oh, I thought—”

“We’re just friends.”

When 10 g of 90% pure lime stone is heated completely, the volume (in litres) of is liberated at STP is… Wrong, again. Which makes no sense because Seungkwan is good at this level. He’s fucking with you on purpose.

“Huh,” he comments, grabbing the worksheet back from your claws.

“‘Huh’ what?”

“I heard a rumor he had a girlfriend last night, that’s all.”

It's not the first time someone assumed there's more between you and Wonwoo then there actually is, your fib last night clearly fanned the flames of even more speculation. But neither of you date; not enough time, willpower, or patience to entertain someone around packed schedules. If you and Wonwoo didn’t have the same life within the chemistry department then you’d never see each other. It’s convenient as it can possibly be. 

Maybe at one point there was. Summer of sophomore year when he studied abroad in Spain and the usual substance of correspondence morphed from memes and jokes to something softer; I miss you’s and you’d like it here’s. Late night phone calls that lasted hours, refusing to hang up first until one of you fell asleep and the other finally canceled the call. 

But the opportunity to tip over the edge came and went without coalescing into whatever was on the other side. 

Seungkwan can pretend it’s an innocent suggestion but he stares you down until you crack with your own curiosity. “Who told you that?”

“Some pledges said they accidentally hit on his girlfriend. I don't even think he knows another girl beside you. Plus you were at the party last night.”

Stupid fuckers, you mutter under your breath. “We’re not dating.”

“But you guys are always together.”

“We work together. You and Vernon are always together, are you two fucking?”

“My room is next to his and it doesn’t sound like work to me.”

“How does me failing you sound?” you spit. 

Seungkwan doesn't so much as flinch at the threat but returns to the practice sheet with a smile nonetheless. 

Typically, fall break is spent hidden away in a pile of blankets with you and Wonwoo alternating movie choices throughout the weekend. Dead Poets Society (him), When Harry Met Sally (you), Over the Garden Wall (him), Fantastic Mr Fox (you), and so on and so on.

This year, you have a strong feeling Dr. Wagner’s favorite pastime is seeing her TAs squirm. It’s the only explanation for the unique brand of humiliation she subjects you and Wonwoo to. Tonight, Friday and technically your first night off for the long weekend, she decides to engage in a new sort of torture. A fancy dinner that neither of you could ever hope to afford, and even as her treat, you still eye the menu prices nervously. 

But Dr. Collins sits across the table, in the flesh, so you pull out the skills you learned in the ridiculous theater class you took freshman year to “diversify” your transcript and smile through the anxiety. 

Wonwoo does a little better; in a button up you’ve only seen him wear a handful of times when his usual wardrobe is sweatshirts and free shirts from campus events, he looks more comfortable than you feel.

“Jill, tells me you both work on Epitranscriptomic mapping in her lab?” Dr. Collins asks after another sip of his drink. Two whiskeys at dinner. 

It’s not an official interview. Not anything close to it, according to your advisor. Nothing is set in stone, even if Dr. Collins laughs at Wonwoo’s awkward jokes and nods enthusiastically to your stories about working in the library (he also worked in the library in undergrad, but used it to nap more than actually work). But it feels like a step in the right direction. 

“Yes, sir.” Wonwoo and you nod in tandem.

Dr. Wagner’s research focuses on how different RNA modifications vary across various cell types and states. It’s high level stuff that no one but Wonwoo understands when you rant about the broken Cellraft machine. And his complaints about NovaSec’s constant crashes that leave him without work fall on deaf ears except when they’re directed at you. 

Half the reason you two started speaking during orientation is because the overly enthusiastic intern asked what people were looking forward to the most during school. You and Wonwoo were the only ones who seemed to think she meant school-related and not where to buy a fake ID. Apparently, the best person to get a fake ID from was a junior in Dr. Wagner’s lab that year. Go figure.

“I’ve seen you two listed down the line as co-authors,” he nods. 

The waiter brings dessert, spiced toffee cakes and ice cream. You’re starving but the knot in your stomach from when you sat down is even tighter and all you can do is pick at the plate.

“Well, Y/N does a lot of the troubleshooting for the RNA degradation issues,” Wonwoo shares. 

Your face heats at the unexpected but not undeserved compliment. Dr. Wagner’s work isn’t cheap and the thought of wasting valuable money, money that could line the pocket of an extra set of hands, forced you to run a tight ship. The other researchers in her lab could say what they wanted behind your back but Dr. Wagner nods with fondness and you try not to preen.

“We’d be a mess if it wasn’t for her,” Dr. Wagner agrees. “The lab techs should write her a card.”

Not wanting to leave him out, you shoot a look to your left where Wonwoo pulls at the napkin in his lap. “Wonwoo is the one that made sure the parameters made sense for the last publication.”

“Also true.” Dr. Wagner smiles. “I told you, Harry, they’re my best students. Excel a mile past my TAs last year. They work together exceptionally well. If I could keep them both for next year, I would.” She says it with finality. There might very well be an opportunity to stay here and continue in her lab, even if your ambition has outgrown the place you’ve called home for four years.

The table is cleared, your plate full of mashed cake and melted ice cream with not a single bite missing. You’re exhausted. Mentally, emotionally; physically from the three all nighters you’ve pulled this week. There’d be an earful from Wonwoo about the dangers of sleep deprivation (hypocrite) but he looks like he’s seen a ghost tonight and won’t sleep himself.

Dr. Collins glances at his watch with a muffled yawn, “My, my! Look at the time! My apologies I didn't mean to keep us all out so late. I know you two probably have far more interesting things to be doing than spending the evening with a couple old timers like us.” He winks at Dr. Wagner, who rolls her eyes and hands the check back to the waiter who can’t be more than nineteen. “It looks like I’ll have some tough decisions to make in the upcoming weeks. Best of luck to the both of you.”

Hands shakes all around, and an awkward shuffle at the door and Dr. Collins and Dr. Wagner disappear into the night, leaving you and Wonwoo alone on the long walk back to campus.

You don’t beeline to your apartment for a debrief. Or even to ignore the obvious awkwardness cracking between. A bench to the side of the campus green is where you find yourselves, across from the fountain that upholds the tradition of drunken seniors taking a dip during finals when they’ve given up. 

You want to drown in it.

“Wonwoo,” you whisper. “What happens if one of us doesn't get in?”

“I–I don’t know.” He peers down at you with what you think is grief and the white noise that follows his quiet admission chokes painfully. There’s no plan B for something like this

If you got in, then Wonwoo did too. An unfounded assumption that wherever you went he’d be there too, based on almost four years of something between you. Too much to be friendship but too scared to call it something else. Something more. All the stereotypical college firsts had been with him or witnessed by him, you assumed grad school would be the same.

But it can’t be.

“Then we should end this.”

The words are out like shaken champagne, a dramatic explosion you can’t take back; a mess in the slimmest inches of space between your bodies on the bench in the freezing air.

“What?” he says.

You can’t swallow back down the idea. Wonwoo won’t let you. Maybe you don’t want to. You stare at the fountain across the green with a twitch in your jaw. 

“One of us is gonna move to Boston and the other is gonna have to figure it out and I’d rather not hate you or you hate me when it happens.”

You won’t take it back but you won’t look at him either. 

“You think I’d hate you?” 

He’s staring at you. You can feel the burn of his gaze on your cheek where embarrassment heats as well.

“I would.” You ignore the break in your voice at the complete lie. “I’d hate it if you got in and I didn’t. Even though you deserve it and I couldn’t be mad about it. I’d hate it. All I’ve wanted since freshman year is to go there, and I won’t ruin it for you just because I can’t have it.”

For a painstaking moment, he doesn’t say anything. His shoulders are still rigid and he props his weight into his knees, head bowed so you can’t even see his face in the stark street light. He doesn’t do anything until you do, until you slump with utter defeat.

“Fine.”

“Fine?” Your voice pinches in your throat.

“What else is there? You’ve already decided for the both of us. That stupid fucking program matters more to you than—”

You heat close to explosion.“It’s not stu—”

Wonwoo rushes off the bench. “It is! It is because we’ve been dating for the past three years but you won’t even fucking admit it! You’ll tell some stupid pledge I’m your boyfriend but everytime I think we’ve worked it out – that you’re finally ready to talk about it – you pretend nothing is happening.”

“That wasn’t—” you shake your head.

“It’s fine. I’ll get over it.” 

You move quicker than he does and find his hand, but he doesn’t want to stay and you can’t stop him from leaving. “Wonwoo.” 

“Stop.” His voice is stoic, whatever emotions previously controlling him locked up tight behind faux dismissal. “Just…stop.” 

If you’re going to lie then the smallest favor you can do is obey his command. You hide your face in your hands, cheeks hot and eyes stinging. Because if you look at him then you’ll break into a million pieces. You’d admit to lying to his face; that you could so much as entertain the idea of hating him.

Wonwoo waits but you say nothing. No argument, no final comment. 

When you finally look up he’s far enough down the sidewalk that the pathetic croak of his name is unheard.

Endpoint: a critical moment in a chemical process where a specific change indicates that the reaction is complete. 

Two days later, when you finally get the balls to call Wonwoo and apologize, to tell him he’s right and that you’re an absolute idiot, he’s already blocked your number.

In a game of passive aggressive pettiness, Wonwoo takes gold.

He won’t talk to you outside of class and lab hours. Even then, he refuses to look at you; talks straight around you. Any form of correspondence you receive has Dr. Wagner’s name attached and anything you send without it is loudly ignored. 

Other people notice too.

In study hours, the students notice, whisper to each other when Wonwoo snubs your attempt to discuss a batch of graded homework in favor of focusing his attention on a cowering freshman who looks like he might piss himself when Wonwoo calls him by name. All the others bury their heads in their textbooks in fear he’ll pick them next.

In Nano, when he shows up just in the nick of time to leave his self-assigned seat next to you empty, and instead sitting next to the door. You feel the eyes on you, hair standing on end at the back of your neck when Dr. Lim stutters through his intro with wide eyes at the scene.

Seungkwan shows up to tutoring significantly less interested in your love life. Or he pretends he isn’t. He doesn’t ask outright and there’s pity in his eyes, thick enough you want to burst into the tears you’ve waited to come for the past two weeks. Instead you feel hollow. 

Even Mr. Lee, the night guard at the library, eyes your solitary exit with something like concern. Even going so far as to call campus public safety to escort you the short walk home.

Your other friends try to take you out, get your mind off the tilt in your world axis. You go. Sit at bar tables and laugh when you're supposed to, make empty conversations with strangers but you don’t care. You want to go home and curl up in your own misery like a blanket and cry until your eyes swell shut and pass out from exhaustion. Eventually, they stop asking if you want to come and just leave ice cream and bottles of wine on your doormat as support.

Your grades don’t suffer, and that’s the only thing you can cling to right now.

In Dr. Wagner’s office, an impromptu meeting under the guise of setting final exam expectations and tinkering the schedule, Wonwoo continues the harsh coldness of silence; content to pretend you don’t even exist. 

You work through it easily enough. You and Wonwoo have the same finals so there's only two schedules (Dr. Wagner’s and your shared one) to coordinate for extra study hours. The entire ordeal takes ten minutes to complete the shared calendar, pack it full of final lab meetings and deadlines for grading.

And when it’s over, you move to rise but Dr. Wagner stops you short.

She looks sheepish which is an odd sight. Immediately, you go to the worst. You grit and swallow and sit back down in the same upholstered chair from the last time she dropped a bomb in your lap. 

This is the bandaid rip you’ve waited for all semester. Whatever is at the end of this meeting means you finally know if you’re good enough or not. If karma does justice and gives Wonwoo the spot in Dr. Collins lab next year because you committed the sin of wanting it too much, sacrificed too much.

“It seems my attempt at friendly competition had some…unintended consequences.”

Where sizzling anger would once flourish and bloom, nothing but empty exhaust stutters to life. “What?”

“Last year, the second my TAs found out I’d recommended them, they slacked off. Missing class, incorrect results in the lab. Now I know you two are hard workers but I was afraid senioritis might set in and I’d have to lay down the law. I don’t like being harsh with my students, not directly anyway. I want the best out of them, and I knew I could anticipate the best from you two. I was always planning to recommend both of you to Dr. Collins. I told him he would regret it if he even thought about not making space for you both next year.”

“What?” you repeat again.

There’s a weight on your knee. You don’t even need to look to know it’s Wonwoo’s hand. He doesn’t look before flipping it over when you place yours on top, fingers knotting together; holds it tight like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. You unconsciously squeeze and he mimics without thought.

“So what does this mean?”

“Dr. Collins can’t outright say it but he’s on the admissions board and decides who gets to join his lab. He was adamant that both of you join him in Boston.”

“But we haven’t even—”

“I know, but the application is a formality at this point.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Your work speaks for itself.”

Wonwoo is still there, clenching your hand for dear life. Waiting for the other shoe to drop because there is no way – no way – it’s this easy. Months at each other's throat from the tension and for nothing. You’re sweaty, heart thumping loud enough it might break from your chest and skitter on Dr. Wagner’s desk. She keeps talking and you still haven’t looked at Wonwoo.

“I’m so proud of you both!” she beams. “And I’m sorry if I’ve…complicated things…for the two of you. It was never my intention. Now, go! Rest! Take the day off and celebrate. Send me the links to your applications and I’ll do my part so you can finally relax before finals.”

The pair of you shuffle outside like zombies. In broad daylight, the world keeps spinning and someone drops their coffee a little further down the street and curses a storm; a car honks at a biker, there's packs of students shuffling around where you stand dumbfounded. Your sweater does little to block the chill of late November wind.

Wonwoo still hasn’t let go of your hand.

“Did that just happen?” he asks.

“What the fuck.”

“What the fuck.”

Your laughing, deranged and fatigued cackles that earn several looks but on the cusps of finals it’s not uncommon enough to stop anyone out of concern. “What the fuck!”

You’re not sure what to do. Celebrate? Cry? 

It’s a little bit of both as Wonwoo swoops in, wrapping his arms around you tight enough to squeeze a surprised scream from your lungs. He’s not done, lifting and spinning you around in a quick circle before crying, “What the fuck!”

You laugh, snorting ugly cackles as he almost drops you with both of you gasping for breath. Completely deranged but what just happened that the rift between you momentarily heals.

Wonwoo sets you down gently but keeps close, his hands your waist like he’s afraid to let go. Like he’s missed you just as much as you’ve missed him. You finally look at him, and it’s the first breath of air after drowning for hours. The creases around his eye, the happy wrinkles around his nose. His hair is long enough it brushes your skin where your foreheads almost touch. His hold is like a cocoon of warmth.

“I’m sorry!” you blurt. “I’m so fucking sorry. I’m stupid and stubborn and I’ve been so caught up in this program that I—”

“No,” he shakes his head, arms tightening as you squirm in his hold.

“Let me finish.”

“No,” he says. “I like that you're stubborn and a pain in the ass. And it wasn’t fair that I expected you to just push aside something like grad school for me. I was being selfish and—”

“I love you.”

You might say it again just to see the way he chokes and turns purple; pulls you closer. He’s at a loss for words and you capitalize on the moment.

“I’ve thought about what would happen if I didn’t get in, like a million different possibilities and never once were you not there. I felt like…I don’t know, honestly. Like I was losing you and it was easier to be upset about the program than admit that. It was stupid and I’m stupid, and I’m really bad at speeches so…feel free to shut me up or whatever.”

You wait for him to process what you’ve said – a million emotions swiping across his face. Ridiculous some people act like he’s the embodiment of stoicism because if you know what to look for then they’d realize he’s terrible at hiding the way he feels.

“You love me?”

All that crying you did in the past few weeks means nothing because you could cry right now. But you don’t look away, you don’t ever want to look away from him again because you’d miss the way his face softens.

“Well, we’ve been dating for the past three years. It’s about time I told you.”

Wonwoo doesn’t speak, facing morphing into confusion before he scoffs with disbelief. “You’re so annoying.”

“Hey!” you stomp but Wonwoo pulls you closer, buries his face in your neck and squeezes so tight something feels on the verge of popping in your spine. His ears burn red as he whispers those three words back quietly enough you strain to hear them. He bites your shoulder just to be an asshole.

“What the hell was that for?” 

He does it again.

“Stop biting me you freak, we’re in public.” You pinch his side for good measure and only then does he smash the side of his face to yours and begin walking you backwards, in the direction of your apartment.

“Whatever, you love me.”

He lets you walk normally at the cross walk, your hand in his, both tangled in the warmth of the pocket of his sweatshirt because it’s fucking cold and the wind isn’t helping. Wonwoo drags you straight home, up the stairs, and crowds you against the door and kisses you until you can’t breathe.

“Why are you crying?”

You are. You don’t even realize it had started until you reach up and feel the dampness on your cheeks.

“Probably because I haven’t slept in two days and I missed you, idiot.” Wonwoo kisses you flat on the mouth again at the confession, smiling big enough it’s less of a kiss and more of teeth pressed together. But it’s good. You like it. You speak into his mouth, “I promise I would have really ‘sloppy I love you sex’ but I’m so tired I think I might throw up.”

“You missed me.” he hums, more of a statement than a question.

“Yeah, big head, I missed you. Now let’s sleep.”

“God,” he moans, biting his lip in mock pleasure. Maybe even real pleasure at the idea of a Friday afternoon full of nothing but hazy dreams in silence rarely found in a frat house. “I love you too.”

You undress straight down to your underwear. Cotton with a conservative cut because in no universe did you think you’d end the day with Wonwoo back in your orbit. Wonwoo who loves you, Wonwoo who you love back. But he eyes you like you’re a grand prize and all he wants is to touch you. But the rush of adrenaline keeping you conscious is burning out quickly.

He strips too, nothing but boxers and circles under his eyes but he’s happy. It radiates off him in waves and if you weren’t part of it, you’d throw something at him because it’d be annoying. You might just be glowing too.

You slip under the covers and Wonwoo snuggles up behind you, a second skin with his hand flat to your stomach to keep you from going anywhere. Not that you would. You don’t even remember falling asleep. 

When you wake up, it’s dark outside; which could mean it’s been minutes or hours since the winter sun likes to deep beneath the horizon early in the afternoon. It’s the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.

Everything is warm; your body beneath the comforter, where sweat sticks at your back, the lips dragging across the curve of your neck, Wonwoo’s crotch firm between your legs.

“Good morning to me,” you sigh.

He hums in happy agreement, tongue traces the shell of your ear before kissing across your cheek and chin and finally landing on your mouth with a kiss that can only be described as sappy.

“Got started without me?” Your hands press under his underwear, two palms full of his ass holding him still enough to grind up into. Something about a sleepy make out has you hungry to lay there and take whatever he’ll offer.

“I’ll catch you up, don’t worry.” 

You snicker, “No wonder those freshmen have crushes on you.”

“What do you mean?” He traces your naked sides with his fingers.

“I’ll catch you up,” you mock, then wince from a razor of his teeth as he shifts down your chest. “If you were my TA, I’d try to fuck you.”

“I’m trying to have’ sloppy I love you sex’ and you’re trying to goad me into some student teacher shit?”

He bites your side, just a nip but you flare and blush anyway. “Ooooo, tell me I’m bad.”

“You’re annoying.”

“You love me.”

“As I was saying,” he whispers into your stomach, fingers tugging your panties off. “Sloppy I love you sex.”

“Okay, okay.” You sink a hand in his hair only for him to tug it away, fingers laced together over your sternum as he strokes you to life. “O-oh, that’s—fuck.”

He hikes a leg up over his shoulder, out of the way for the fingers that satisfy the empty squeeze in your gut. Your tongue prickles with another goad but Wonwoo senses it first and swiftly works to silence you with a hot kiss to your clit that makes your vision bleed red.

The cold of the room works in his favor, pinching your nipples tight until you cave to the need to touch yourself. If the light was on then he’d watch and you get the urge to pause the action just for the chance to watch him watch you.

“Don’t stop,” you grunt. 

He eats it filthy, spit and arousal forming a wet mess slipping down your ass. The way his tongue lashes is nothing short of despicable and you know you’re the one that taught him that and you can’t help but flare with pride. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m—” you chant blindly.

The warmth between your legs surrounds, suffocates until your thighs go numb and your shoulders pull away from the mattress with a groan rivaling porn; but you mean it. Wonwoo means it too. 

You clench harder, revitalized in the stretch of another finger and a clip of teeth on your clit.  You tug at your still clasped hands on your chest, bite into the meat of his palm and let the flood consume you with stiff legs and tears in your eyes. “Oh, Wonwoo – u-ugh. Fuck. Fuck.”

Wonwoo takes it, mouth waiting for every eager roll of your hips; completely unphased until you melt back in the sheets with a pathetic mewl.

He kisses up your body, mouth and cheeks wet and warm. When he reaches your mouth you resist the urge to lick him clean. Something about that feels decidedly unlike sloppy I love you sex. So you slip your tongue between his lips instead and spread your legs until his crotch is level with the raw sensitivity of your own.

“Roll over,” you pant.

Like an asshole, he laughs. And then he drops his weight behind his hips and you actually see stars. “Wanna do it like this.”

“Make love to me,” you croon.

He doesn’t even pretend to stifle the obnoxious snort. “Don’t ever say that again.”

“What happened to sloppy I love you sex?” 

“Getting to it. You like it when I come inside you?” Now he’s the one goading and you’re blushing like you’ve never fucked him before. To be fair, you haven’t fucked him as the man you’re in love with so it’s a first time for the both of you. Wonwoo’s drunk on the power of having you stutter through something so familiar yet new.

“Love it.” 

“Good,” he agrees with a saccharine peck to your nose that makes you feel like a doe eyed virgin again. “I love you.”

Your need for games and pretense dissolves. You just want Wonwoo, all of him, until you can’t take it any more. 

Wonwoo senses the change, noses against your cheek before kissing you. He’s still holding your hand, the other cupping your jaw, thumb tracing the curve of flesh. It’s vulnerable and soft and something you probably could’ve experienced years ago if you weren’t willfully blind.

“I love you, too.”

You whisper the confession so quietly it doesn’t even make a sound but Wonwoo figures it out because he surges into action, pulling you to the center of the mattress in all your naked glory. The flood light from the side of the building reflects back in through the slats in the blinds and Wonwoo sits up to soak in what he can see in the limited light.

Twisting a hand in his hair, you pull him down for a kiss; forcing all the emotions you have to the surface. He doesn’t make you wait. Instead, he drops flat, flat together from head to toe as he slips inside. You’re still tight and sensitive, squirming at the feeling of being stretched so thin with Wonwoo wrapped tight in your arms.

“W-wonwoo,” you mewl. You know he loves the sound of his name, any time, in desperate moans and sleepy coos. You’ll say it as much as he wants to hear if he kisses you like he is now – with something new at the edge. Something needy. “More.”

He wraps your legs around his hips, folding you clean in half with a heavy rut into your pussy you’ll feel for days. You both want to drag this out – take hours to come apart and come together again and again – but Wonwoo is already working a hand between your bodies; stroking you over hot coals just to hear you moan his name again.

In record speed, you feel that familiar burn creeping along your spine. He fucks you into a wet mess and it’s all you can do to hold on and claw up his back. Breaks you into something limp and pliant, hands twisted together over head; tugs at that loose thread over and over until you unravel beneath him and Wonwoo watches like it’s magic.

“Oh- oh, Wonwoo–” you cry. Actually cry. Tears he swipes away with a thumb before pressing his mouth to yours.

You’re swollen and stiff, muscles taunt while they twitch from a rush of complete bliss.

“M cumming, baby – oh my god.” Wonwoo bucks into the tight squeeze of your legs, deeper, harder, more. “Love you—fuck.”

He hides with soft sighs in your neck, skin sticky where you both slide together. You cradle him to your chest, fingers rushing through the sweaty tangles on his hair gently. A kiss to his head, his brow, his nose that wrinkles from pure content.

But you’re not done yet.

You wiggle from beneath him, peeling yourself off the pillows, lower half still numb from one hell of an orgasm. But you want more, insatiable and doped on years of repressed fondness. “Can you go again?” 

Wonwoo looks like you asked him to run a marathon. “You want me to die?”

“Worse ways to go,” you coo, sinking low enough to take his cock in your mouth. It tastes like you and him and it makes your eyes roll.

“God. I didn’t know sappy sex meant you’d try to kill me,” he moans airly under your ministrations, a hand at the back of your head when you show off with a nose to his crotch before sliding off. “You’re evil.”

“I’m in love with a sexy nerd and I'm horny,” you sigh dreamily, thrilled with the way he pulses in your hold.

“Yeah, well…” he gives up on whatever rebuttal under the weight of your body on top of his. Nothing he can argue with in that statement anyway so you tease him with a kiss, smile when he chases your mouth, roll when you realize he can taste the mix of you both off your tongue.

“You know…I’ll need a roommate in Boston.”

“Huh,” Wonwoo feigns. His focus is on the way your tug at his cock, spit and cum webbed between your fingers. This isn’t the best way to have this conversation but you’re both high on sleep deprivation, love, and orgasms and it encourages loose lips.

“Know anyone interested?”

He shudders back into the pillow, leaving his neck open for your teeth with a choked, “Yeah.”

“Who?”

“Me.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah —fuck—wanna wake up to you every morning.”

“Even if I’m a cranky bitch?” Your knees bracket his hips, cunt split on his cock as you grind against the underside.

His stomach caves as he responds with a thin voice, “yeah.”

You like waking up to him too. Falling asleep with him tangled in your body, listening to him hum in the shower when he thinks you aren’t listening. Sometimes he even sings with a little encouragement like those times you were sick and the only thing that got your mind from exploding like thunderclaps was the lullabies from his childhood that he cooed into your hairline.

Starting and ending everyday with Wonwoo sounds nothing short of blissful.

“Okay.” You tangle his fingers with your own, rising on your knees to distract from the sheepish smile splitting your face in two.

“Really?”

“I like having you around,” you admit, sinking down on his cock. “Makes me feel better.”

Weird conversation over the back track of slapping skin and pathetic muffled sobs but you like it. Feels well overdue.

“A-about?”

Everything.

He gives a tender squeeze to your thigh, cradles your face in both hands, eye contact that you fight not shutter away from because it’s terrifying he can see you clearly. 

He’s lost; completely mesmerized by the way you bounce on the length of him, grind back into his lap like you’re possessed.

“Can’t last—” he chokes.

“S’okay,” you press the words into his cheek, his jaw, the bones jutting from around his collar. “Just wanna feel you.”

You bend and strain for his pleasure, to watch it dance across his brow as he cums inside you again, his hands heavy on your ass, your thighs, whatever he reflexively grips in a bid for grounding, nails leaving streaks of color. Twitching and jerking in sensitive painful bliss, his eyes roll back with a quick exhale. “Fuck-k.”

You're sticky and used between the legs but you take comfort in the feeling and bask in the glow on top of him. Nothing but a pile of satisfied boneless goo where you lay with sweaty skin and heat you feel from the top of your head to your toes. “Good?”

“Great,” he hums, pulling into one last toe numbing kiss. 

When feeling returns to your bodies, you spend the rest of the night eating greasy pizza on the couch in nothing but his shirt, drinking wine straight from the bottle in celebration. You kiss Wonwoo whenever you want, which, admittedly, is a lot; a flurry of sappy pecks over his face leaves him blushing and dewy. When you fall asleep after making love once again, the last thing you hear is him saying he loves you too.

Epilogue

4 months later…

There’s a certain level of comfort that comes with receiving an official acceptance email. The words you’ve been waiting to hear since Dr. Wagner all but confirmed your future in a fifteen minute meeting last semester.

On behalf of the Chemistry department, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted as a part of…

The big envelope in the mail today helped too.

Wonwoo sends a photo of his, unopened, because you promised to open them together tonight. On your date; which is nothing more than grading assignments and eating leftover take out on the couch like so many nights have been spent already. But this time he’s your boyfriend. And after all the worksheets are graded, and you get to cuddle deep into the worn couch cushions, you get to tell him you love him and he’ll say it back and the flutter in your veins at the thought is nothing short of magical. 

And this time you have a surprise waiting for him and he might just cry. Or you hope so. You’ve got $50 riding on the possibility.

You’re sweating through your shirt from putting the new piece of furniture together for the past three hours by the time he shows up with a bag of takeout, Thai food from the place on Market where they know you by order, and a kiss you’ve been missing since the morning when he left for one of his stupid workouts. 

Wonwoo sets the bag on the counter, immediately pulling you into his arms before sagging like a deflated balloon. “Pixel got adopted today.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He’s moping. He accepts your placating kiss with a pout, and starts unpacking the food.

You feel the smallest flutter of guilt but it's worth it.  “That sucks.” 

“She needed a good home.” Wonwoo confirms and that's the end of the conversation.

Even in your final semester, your schedules are still packed. Crammed full with meetings, exams, work, Wonwoo’s volleyball stuff that you attend with posters and sit near the other girlfriends. It’s weird but not because its the same stuff you two were doing for years. But it’s exhausting.

So you don’t blame Wonwoo for not noticing the newest addition to your apartment until he’s inhaled his food and the last third of yours.

“Babe.”

“What?” you ask, focusing on cutting another red slash into the white paper.

“What’s that?”

He points at the gigantic cat tower in the corner next to the couch. It’s cramped in tight but in two months you’ll both be in Boston with a bigger apartment with real bedrooms so it’s only temporary.

You shrug and make another mark. “Oh, just something I picked up.”

“You don’t have a cat.”

“Huh. Weird.” Your eyebrows furrow in mock confusion but you keep grading papers or else it’s game over and the need to watch him puzzle together your plans is all you want. “Then what’s the thing in the bathroom?”

“You didn’t.”

“I did,” you confirm.

Wonwoo stares open mouthed, between you and the bathroom door and back to you. He might pinch himself but he flies off the couch with childlike eagerness and your face hurts from smiling already.

Pixel spends the rest of the night curled up asleep on her new dad’s lap and you’re $50 richer. Mingyu’s girlfriend is already offering to catsit despite Mingyu’s pouts about losing money.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi

@writingbarnes @dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts

@wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos @seungkw1 @horanghaezone @jespecially

@scoupsjin @isabellah29 @luvseungcheol @crisle19 @iamawkwardandshy

@lukeys-giggle @aaa-sia @tinkerbell460

[porcelana-r0ta]

let the mourners come

Title: let the mourners come

Ao3 Link: Only available to Ao3 users

Word Count: 3045

Summary:

It started, as most things do with Danny Fenton, as a joke.

It ended, as most things do with Jazz Fenton, with things better than they were before.

xxXxx

When Danny finally gets a Twitter, it’s during Elon Musk’s shit show takeover. He’s able to secure a good Twitter handle thanks to people leaving en masse and fleeing to Tumblr. He knows about things that happen outside of Amity Park (he is terminally online rather than chronically, after all), but he still doesn’t think anything of using @TheJoker as his handle, even knowing about Gotham City’s clown troubles. It’s just going to be a shitpost account, anyway, one that dances in the chaos of Elon’s electronic graveyard. Nothing will come about him using @TheJoker when he’s merely posting things like, “Just grew a new row of teeth!!! very pointy but can’t go to the dentist anymore bc they might turn me in to the giw.”

So Danny honestly never foresaw The Actual Real Joker breaking out of Arkham Asylum all the way in Gotham City, New Jersey, and deciding to get a Twitter account to terrorize people online as well as offline. And he definitely never foresaw The Joker @’ing him on Twitter, demanding that Danny change his Twitter handle. But, well. Here he was. 

[Image Description: A screenshot of a Twitter reply chain, starting with the real Joker @'ing Danny's Twitter account, which uses TheJoker as his Twitter handle. The Joker, who has a verified account, demands that Danny "change your handle", and Danny replies with a simple "no" followed by red heart emoji. The Joker Tweets, "Kid you don't know who you're fucking with," to which Danny replies, "Ye I do ur some dude w/ poor fashion sense and lame jokes. Maybe try badjokesbyjeff bc originality is ugly on u" followed by a shrugging emoticon. The Joker responds, "Check your DMs." Danny then responds, "Perf [happy emoji surrounded by hearts] I've sent you a time and place. Can't wait to beat the shit out of another disgrace of a clown." Someone with the username "Gregg rulz ok" responds to Danny's last Tweet, "Bro is absolutely RATIOING the joker but the clown keeps responding [three skull emojis] embarrassing frfr too bad he's gonna die for realsies".

End ID]

Danny is quick to respond and then makes even quicker work of roasting The Joker. This soon results in The Joker DMing him his IP Address and a creative threat. Still, Danny isn’t about to cow to a clown with no respect for the art of clowning. He replies to the DM: 

Cool, meet me at the Nasty Burger parking lot in Amity Park IL on tuesday at 2am

The response from The Joker is quick:

Fourteen year olds are too confident these days

Danny rolls his eyes and ignores the influx of notifications from Twitter, and instead makes another Tweet.

Imagine beefing with someone over a Twitter handle lol acc so embarrassing for him

He blackens his screen and stretches in bed, letting his spine pop more than what is humanly possible. He runs his tongue over that second row of teeth, his lips curling into a grin. 

xxXxx

Gothamite Twitter is blowing up over The Joker’s social media beef with a faceless shitposting account. Jason, upon finding out about it, has a series of reactions: first, he looks up the shitposter and follows them. Then, he finds the actual chain between the poster and The Joker, and his vision goes vibrant green when he sees that The Joker’s profile picture is of the second Robin, beaten and swollen in an abandoned building in Ethiopia. 

When his vision clears and he can breathe without wanting to kill, he likes the shitposter’s replies, and he calls the Replacement to see if the other Bats know already.

“We know,” Tim says in lieu of a hello when the ringing cuts out. “We’re working on it.”

“What, you think anything’s gonna come of it?” But even as Jason asks, he already knows the answer. The Joker is unhinged and once he’s threatened something, he’ll follow up unless he comes up with a “funnier” option. 

Tim’s breath hitches, and he says, “I’ve hacked their DMs. Joker knows the kid’s IP address and sent it to him. He knows everything from that address alone.”

He pauses in the middle of suiting up, “Kid?”

He hears Tim swallow, “Yes, kid. He’s fifteen. And he gave The Joker a specific time and place to meet up to fight. In his own hometown.”

“Are— are you fucking kidding me?” 

“No. B is already calling Nightwing. We’re taking the Batwing to Illinois.”

“Jesus fuck. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Hood, I—”

“Shut up, I’m already in my gear.” He hangs up without waiting for a response. 

He refreshes the Twitter feed and barks a laugh at the newest Tweet:

Jason Todd votes, and the Red Hood leaves his safe house. 

xxXxx

A commercial flight to Illinois takes around two and a half hours. In the Batwing, they get there in an hour, and don’t even have to worry about the drive from Chicago to a small speck of a town like Amity Park. They spend the quick flight learning everything they can about Daniel James Fenton, the owner of the Twitter account, and they can all sense the growing tension from (and between) Bruce and Jason.

But, well. Jason doesn’t care. Let them be uncomfortable. It doesn’t compare to being ripped back into life and finding out his dad didn’t even get justice for his death. 

When they reach town, it doesn’t take long to find the Fentons’ home. This is in part because Amity Park is a very navigable town, and because of the giant neon sign proclaiming FentonWorks on the side of the building. 

“Is that a blimp?” Dick asks. “Why don’t we have a blimp?” 

“Where would we keep it?” the Demon Brat counters practically. “Goliath takes up all of the Cave’s extra space.” 

Jason rolls his eyes and knows veins would be popping out of Bruce’s forehead if it weren’t for the cowl. 

“Let’s go,” Bruce says instead, and they all make their way to the house. 

Nightwing, predictably, goes for the front door approach. Jason rolls his eyes as he takes one of the second-story windows and finds his way downstairs.

He gets down at the same time that a redheaded girl answers the door and nearly slams it in Dick’s face. Jason has to suppress snickers at the sight. 

“Wait, wait, wait, are you Jazz Fenton? We need to talk to your brother!” 

“...We?” she asks, then tenses and turns around to see the rest of the Bats in the hall behind her. Dick takes the opportunity to step in completely, closing the door behind him. “Wha— what’s going on?”

“Where are your parents, Jazz?” Bruce makes every question sound like a demand. Jason rolls his eyes from behind his mask—way to put the teenager at ease, B.

“Why do you need to know?” Her voice has a defensive edge to it. “What do you want with Danny?” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Nightwing comforts. “He didn’t do anything too bad, just said some dumb things online. It’s not his fault.” 

This relaxes her, and her shoulders begin un-hunching. “Oh, s-so what’d he do?”

“He foolishly challenged The Joker to a battle in a ‘Nasty Burger’ parking lot tonight.” 

“You could’ve had some more tact, Robin,” Nightwing scolds. But the Demon Spawn just crosses his arms. 

“He did what?” Jazz shrieks. “Like, The Joker from Gotham? That Joker?”

“Are there others?” Red Hood comments dryly. 

Her face goes through several different emotions—disbelief, rage, fear, and then rage again, “DANIEL JAMES FENTON! GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!” 

There’s a thumping noise, and then frantic footsteps down the stairs. 

“Wha? Who died?” asks the figure of a tiny fifteen-year-old, smaller than even Jason had been when he was alone with The Joker. He’s tiny and lanky. Zero muscle definition. Eye bags to rival the Replacement’s. Something ripples in the Pit, deep and distinct, but he can’t name what causes it.

Oh, this kid is so dead. 

“Danny,” says Jazz calmly while Danny blinks uncomprehendingly at the heroes in their hallway. She is solemn when she says, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill you now.” 

“What did I do?” 

She stares at him, “Why have you scheduled a fight with The Joker?” 

“Oh, that.” He rubs the back of his neck, “Is he taking that seriously?”

“Of course he is, Danny! It’s The Joker! That’s what he does! He can’t differentiate between a joke and reality! He would tear off his own face for the bit!” 

“Oof,” is all Danny can muster. He digs his phone out and starts typing before Jazz yanks it out his hand. 

“You’re fucking TWEETING about this?” Jazz asks incredulously, and Hood’s hackles rise. She even reads the Tweet aloud, “‘Just found out @TheJ0ker is being fr about fighting me. Sad but i can take a clown.’”

“I was gonna add ‘i’ve done it b4,’ but like the letter and the number four. But yeah.” 

“You’re grounded forever.” Danny opens his mouth to protest, but the look Jazz cuts at him is so scathing that he shuts his mouth. Hood is reluctantly impressed—she had what could be cultivated into a fantastic Batglare. She pockets the phone, “You’re never getting this phone back. Taunting The Joker to Amity? Have you any brain cells? What if he brings Joker gas with him, huh? Or any of his goons? What if he starts hurting other people? Have you thought any of this through?” 

Danny’s face goes from tired to chastised, his lips drawing into a frown, especially at the mention of other people. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think that he’d take it so seriously.”

“He sent you your IP Address.”

“I thought that was just a random string of numbers?”

“Oh my god,” Jazz despairs. “Oh my god. Grounded forever. See, I know you're lying to me. I know you're lying because Tucker, the nerdiest tech nerd to have ever been born, is your best friend.”

He rubs the back of his neck, “I tune him out?”

“You’re still lying to me?” Jazz scoffs and turns to Batman, “Do whatever you want with him. I’m not going to defend him from this.” 

“Hey!” complained her brother, but Batman just continued on, “Where are your parents?”

“They’re in Sweden for a science convention,” Jazz answers. “They left this morning.” 

Damn, Jason curses to himself. 

“Jazz, seriously. You’re not gonna let Batman kill me, right?” 

“Do you want to be cremated or buried, Danny?” Jazz asks blasély, and Danny gulps, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. 

“It’s my Twitter handle,” he mutters petulantly, and Jason can’t believe the gall of this kid. Or maybe stupidity. Audacity’s a good one, too. “If he wanted it, he should’ve gotten it first. And he gives clowns a bad name.” 

“Not the clown thing again.” Jazz digs her palms into her eyes, sighs, then turns to the heroes. “He has a whole clown thing ever since Circus Gothica came to town and robbed a bunch of jewelry stores.” 

Danny gestures wildly with his hands, as if demonizing clowns was the real problem and not the egomaniacal mass murderer who wanted to murder him for his Twitter handle, “Clowning is an art form, Jazz, and people like Freakshow and The Joker make a mockery of the very serious societal statements that clowns make!” 

All of the Bats very carefully Did Not look at Nightwing, who has made very similar rants on quiet patrols.

“You are never leaving this house again,” she says serenely. “And I’m unplugging the wifi router.”

“You would punish even yourself?”

“Oh, little brother. I would watch the world burn if it meant knocking sense into your thick skull.” 

“Okay, Christ,” Red Hood finally interrupted the siblings’ melodrama. An unyielding redheaded girl and a mouthy black-haired, blue-eyed boy? They’d fit in a little too well back at the Manor, so Jason needs to cut this shit out before Bruce’s bat-doption instincts start tingling. “Stop. Just… Christ. Stop. Is this how you always interact with each other?”

“Sometimes there’s explosions,” Danny pipes up, a cheeky grin on his face. 

Jazz doesn’t dispute it. 

Fucking hell. God damn it. I can’t. I just can’t. 

Batman doesn’t give anything away, “Robin and Red Robin will be staying here with you until Nightwing, Hood, and I apprehend The Joker. First, we’re going to check the perimeter.” 

“Oooh, I get to give the lab tour!” 

Lab?

“No lab. You’re grounded. You’ll only be in there for cleaning duty now.”

“Wh– hey! No fair!” 

“What’s this lab you two are talking about?” Red Robin asks before Jazz can rip into her brother again. 

She sighs, “Our parents’ lab. I’ll show you, but someone needs to stay with Danny.” 

“You act like I’m gonna run off and start World War III….”

“I wonder why,” she says sarcastically.

Batman nods to Robin, who nods back, and the rest of them follow Jazz out of the living room to a metal reinforced door. She types in a code—Jason catches the numbers 03-14-99. There’s an assenting beep, and she opens the door, flicking on the lights and leading them down into what is apparently a basement lab. 

A stone settles in Red Hood’s stomach, cold and heavy. 

The basement is large, likely the floor size of the entire building. There are several work tables, filled with miscellaneous blueprints and spare parts and weapons and tools. Against the farthest wall is another armored door, but what draws Hood’s—and the entire Batclan’s—attention is the south wall, where a circular hole in the wall was glowing a toxic Pit green. 

The stone shattered in his stomach, splintering into his body. Is it harder or easier to breathe? Jason can’t tell. 

“Wow,” says Nightwing. His voice is cheerful, but Jason can feel the stress beneath it. “Do I even want to know?” 

Wasn’t this supposed to just be typical Joker bullshit?

“Our parents are ectobiologists,” Jazz explains nonchalantly, walking further into the lab. “As in, ghost biologists.” She pauses at one of the work tables, picking up a green and white thermos. Pretty boring, considering the rest of their surroundings. 

“Ghosts.” Red Robin’s voice is carefully neutral. 

“Ghosts,” Jazz reaffirms. “I know. I thought they were crazy at first, too. But I can prove it, if you like.” Then, without waiting for a yes or no, she untwists the thermos, and there’s a bright flash of white, and a whole entire body sprouting out of it. 

“WHOO! I’M FREE!” cries the…being, pale and floating and lanky and entirely too big to have fit into a fucking thermos, of all the fucking things. “....And not in the Realms? Wait.” He stops stretching, descending to rest closer to the ground, but still hovering a few inches from the floor. He’s got green eyes and lifeless (ha) blond hair. He’s wearing a trenchcoat and a green skull necklace. Overall, he looks like the type of thug he’d arrest in the Bowery. 

“Hello, Johnny.” The man’s—ghost’s?—eyes flicker around each person in the room, his gaze becoming more and more confused and panicked as he takes in each Bat, before settling on Jazz Fenton. 

“Why are the fucking Bats here?” 

“The Joker’s coming to Amity,” she says. The ghost’s eyes widen. Jazz tilts her head, “How many ghosts would you say passed away in Gotham, Johnny?” 

As Jason and the Bats tense, this Johnny guy lets out a wicked laugh, “Oh, Doll, you have the best surprises. Why did we break up?” 

“You did try to have my body possessed. That ruins any good relationship.” 

“Man, but Kitty’ll love this. Thanks for letting me out of Soup Time, Doll.” He floats higher, “Any advice?” 

She throws him the phone she’d confiscated from Danny and he catches it easily, “Everything’s on here. Have fun.”

“What exactly are you planning?” Batman scowls. 

Johnny laughs, “Aww, don’t worry, Bats. Peace and love on Planet Earth, or whatever. We’ll make it quick.” Then, as the Bats leap into action as one, Johnny turns invisible, the Batarangs passing harmlessly through where he’d once been floating. 

“Where did he go?” Batman turns his scowl, angrier than ever, to Jazmin Fenton, who stares back unflinchingly. “He’s going to solve the problem.”

“You mean he’s going to kill The Joker.”

She shakes her head, “Oh, no. That’d just be asking for him to come back as a ghost. Could you imagine a Joker with powers like invisibility, intangibility, flight, and more? Johnny can be impulsive, but he’s smart. None of them will kill The Joker.” 

“Then what are they going to do?” Red Robin asks. 

“My parents are ectobiologists,” Jazz repeats from earlier. “But I am more of an anthro-ectopologist. I am concerned with the study of ectoplasmic beings’ societies and cultures. And while it is very ancient, there is protocol in the Infinite Realms—that is, where you go when you die, should you remain after death—to prosecute living criminals who have killed a certain number of Realms citizens. So you don’t have to worry about your moral code, Batman. The Joker will be tried by a much fairer court than Gotham can ever hope to have. No offense.” 

Jason stares at Jazz Fenton, who he’d pegged as the sane sibling. He’s not so sure now, but he can’t say he hates it.

“And how do we know it’s a fair trial?” Nightwing asks. 

She waves her hand, “Oh, as Gotham’s Knights, you’re key witnesses. I’m sure you’ll be summoned to testify. You will see then. And don’t worry about your secret identities—the dead don’t care much for that sort of thing.” 

“So if this is a ‘fair’ trial or whatever, The Joker’s going to be locked up forever?” Jason asks. “I mean, that’s the only option for shit like him.” 

Batman sends him a look, but he ignores it. 

“Well, there are several different punishments that could be deemed appropriate, but he’ll never be able to set foot in the mortal world again, yes.” 

Jason Todd grins, “Oh, I’m glad your brother’s stupid, kid.” 

She sighs, long-suffering, “Well, that makes one of us. Still, there’s more important things we should discuss now that you’re here.”

“More important than The Joker trying to kill your brother over a Twitter handle?” Red Robin asks doubtfully. 

Jazz smiles, sharp and dangerous, and asks, ”Have you ever heard of the Anti-Ecto Acts?” 

xxXxx

Several months later when Danny is finally un-grounded, he Tweets his last three Tweets before Twitter can become the foolishly named X: 

Imagine bullying the Joker so hard that it not only lands the Joker in ghost prison BUT it also leads to major law reform in the US lmao someone make the domino effect meme about this pls

Y’allre replying to me with thanks like i did anything other than be an internet troll. My sister literally manipulated local, federal, and interdimensional law so you should be thanking her. 

i just a babie 🥺🥺🥺

xxXxx

Thanks for reading! This is the whole fic, so pls do not ask for tags! Thank you :)

[honeybeedrabble]

Kinktober Day 13: Size - Tutor!Miguel x AFAB!Reader 🎃

can you tell i hate my math class this sem ?? :D

CW: unspecified age gap (reader is in college miguel is in grad school), trauma inducing stats vocabulary, piv (unprotected don’t be stupid), creampie (don’t be stupid), mean miguel, harsh grabbing, fingering (kinda), finger sucking, general size difference.

18+ MDNI

It was getting late, you and your roommates Machi and Gale having dinner with you. You huffed, slumping in the chair you sat on.

“This is such bullshit, I’ve been stuck on this problem for like half an hour already. Nothing’s clicking.” You pushed your dinner aside and looked at Gale for reassurance. She tilted her head at you with a raised brow.

“Girl, you know damn well I’m not getting it either. Just call it quits for tonight, it's not due for another two days.” She said, sipping a chilled can of coke. 

“Oh, come on. Neither of us are understanding this shit. I mean, this symbol looks like a backwards three! I miss when math used to just have numbers,” you complained, squinting at the statistics homework in front of you.

“That looks ridiculous,” Machi laughed. “Never have I been more glad to be an arts major.” She said, getting up to put her dish away. 

“If it bothers you that much, why don’t you just visit the tutoring lab? I think they’re still open.” Gale said, grabbing your dish and following Machi to the sink. 

“Really?” You asked, checking your watch. 8 pm. 

“Hey, we pay thousands of dollars in tuition, okay? If they can’t stay open or help when students need it what's the point in taking all that money from us?” Gale shrugged. You sighed, standing up from your chair. 

“Well, I guess I better get moving if I want to make it to the tutoring center before 10. Let me know if you guys need anything while I’m out.” You grabbed your keys and left the apartment after grabbing your bag and slipping your shoes back on. 

_____________________________________________________

You arrived at the building, glass doors sliding open as you walked through them, the cold air conditioning giving you goosebumps. You walked over to the sign in sheet, looking through available tutors for the next hour or so. 

“Crap…” You sighed, looking through the sheets. It seemed like you needed an appointment before hand, at least electronically. 

There was the sound of laughter down the hall, you turned your head towards the sound. There was a much larger man along with a guy who seemed about your age. You recognized the shorter individual from your statistics class. 

“Well, I’m glad we could get your problem figured out.” The tall man said, a big hand patting the younger guy's back heavily. 

“Yeah, it only took us all night.” More laughter. 

“Hey, if its due in two days all night is nothing.” The tall, tanned man said. He was massive, you could practically see his muscles bulging underneath his white buttoned shirt. His chocolate hair slicked back, a few strands messily framing his face. You were in a trance when his almost red eyes met yours. You felt your face flush. 

“U-Uh, Hey! You’re in my statistics class arent you?” You asked the shorter guy, desperately avoiding the older mans gaze. The shorter guy said your name questioningly, you nodded. 

“Yeah, thats me.” You said, clutching your bag tighter. “So… you got help with the homework?” You asked, motioning to the taller man.

“Oh yeah, this is Miguel.” He said, patting Miguels back. 

“Hi, nice to meet you.” You said, grabbing his large hand and shaking it. You felt your palms become sweatier, his hand practically enveloping yours. “I didn’t see your name under the statistics sign up sheet.” You said, voice almost trembling. 

“Well as a grad student my major is scientific research so that's why I’m not under statistics.” He said, a slight smirk across his face, his grip on your hand becoming tighter. 

“O-oh,” you said softly. 

“But I use statistics in almost everything I do, so I can help out with any problems you’ve got if you need it.” 

“Miguel’s not a bad tutor, it only took us so long to finish cause I haven’t shown up to class in weeks.” Your classmate laughed. “I’ve got to get out of here but thanks for your help, man.” He waved before walking out the sliding doors into the dark night. 

You and Miguel turned to each other, you suddenly felt very nervous. 

“So… Would you… tutor me?” You asked, rubbing your arms for warmth. 

“Well, it's not quite 10 yet and I don’t have any other sign-ups, so why not?” He shrugged, walking down the hall with you following after him. 

You two walked down the hall, reaching a small study room at the end of it. 

“This is the room I reserved for the night, so don’t worry about anyone coming in here super late and trying to steal it from us.” He said, opening it up for you to walk through. 

You walked into the room, a table with a few chairs in the center with a whiteboard behind it. It seemed fine to you as you walked in, sitting down on a chair, slightly taken aback when it rolled underneath your weight. You looked down and noticed wheels at the feet of the chair. You looked up again when you heard the door shut, Miguel locking it behind him. 

_______________________________________________

“And that's why your z score is going to be 20.99. Does that make sense?” He asked. You were fucked. 

The whole time you were supposed to be paying attention you were completely distracted by his being. He sat next to you, his large frame practically caging you in between him and the desk. He was everywhere, and if you weren’t staring directly at the paper, you were scared you were going to faint. You nodded, eyes looking down at the problem, refusing to tear away from the mathematical mess you made. 

“Yeah…”

“Then tell me how you got it.” He said, deep voice rumbling in his big chest. 

“Well, first you uh…” You circled a random number in the world problem then looked up at him with helpless eyes. He raised a brow. 

“You start with the standard deviation?” He asked, clearly unamused. 

“Well… You definitely use it somewhere…” You said half joking. Miguel was still unamused. He sighed deeply, throwing his head into his hand. 

“I’ll explain it one more time, okay?” He said, grabbing the pencil from your hand. His hand brushed against yours and held your pencil as if it were a toothpick to him. “So, we’ve identified the mew, right?” He asked, underlining the foreign symbol. 

“Yeah…” You said, asking yourself what the fuck is a mew? 

You were determined to stay focused but that man made it difficult. You turned to look at him while his eyes were fixed onto the paper, scribbling out equations and typing into your calculator- which he also made look puny in his grasp. You watched him as he spoke, the way his soft lips moved as he talked, revealing sharp canines every now and then between words. You felt your face flush, entranced by his presence. You eyed his large shoulders, following them down to his massive arms. You looked back up at his face, admiring his features while he was so deep in thought. He looked down at you.

“So now we just divide and… hey?” he said almost harshly. “Are you paying attention?” He asked in a snarky tone. You felt your face drop. 

“I… um…”

“Distracted again?” He tossed the pencil onto the surface of the table, muscular arms crossing as he almost glared at you. 

“I’m sorry.” You felt exhausted, covering your face with your hands in defeat. You felt like crying. 

“Maybe if you weren’t so focused on undressing me with your eyes and more focused on these problems, you’d understand this shit by now.” He grunted. You stilled, face buried deep into your palms before you peered at him through between your fingertips. 

“W…What?” You asked, looking at his almost red eyes. 

“I said what I said.” Miguel's voice was low, he grabbed your seat and pulled it towards him, the wheels moving you with ease. You felt your core tighten, as your face continued to burn hot, regardless of the air conditioning. 

Miguel's eyes practically violated you, staring deep past your own and into your soul before looking you up and down, clearly enjoying how you cowered. 

“That pretty little head not used to thinking this hard?” he asked low in your ear. You shuddered, hairs on the back of your neck standing at attention. “Pathetic.”

He grabbed your waist with his large hands, daring to crush you between his palms. He slowly stood up from his chair, face inches away from yours. You took that as invitation enough and crashed your lips into his, those soft lips felt even better than you imagined, a whimper escaping your lips as his grip increased. He pulled you off of the chair and slammed you onto the table, papers flying and pens scattering around you. You let out a grunt as the air escaped your lungs from the impact. 

“I’m taking time out of my night to try and teach you this shit and you can't even meet me halfway and try to learn it?” He huffs yanking down your frumpy sweats to your ankles. You kicked them off, laying on the table in your tight shirt and panties. 

“I-I’m sorry, you're just so-” he cut you off with two thick fingers plunging into your mouth, you gagged when they hit the back of your throat. He smirked, watching you drag your tongue around the knuckles of his fingers. 

“That ought to shut you up.” He ran a finger from his other hand to your clothed cunt, you moaned around his thick digits when he caressed your clit. Your hips moved on their own accord, grinding against his large hand. “Would you look at that? I didn’t know they accepted whores into this school.” Miguel hummed, voice smooth like honey and deep like an ocean. 

His single finger moved to where your pussy and thigh met, yanking aside your black cotton panties to reveal your wet cunt, which clenched around nothing at the sudden cold air. 

“Jesus… I bet you were thinking about this all night, huh?” Miguel teased, the calloused tip of his finger just barely grazing along your seeping hole, spreading the warm slick higher and higher up your folds until he could smear it along your sensitive bud, eliciting another moan from behind his drooly fingers. 

“Needy, aren’t we?” Miguel withdrew his fingers from your mouth while his other hand unzipped his dress pants, the metal of his belt buckle clanking together as he pulled it out of its loops. The belt hit the floor with a small thud and with his drool-soaked fingers he freed his massive cock and ran the slippery fingers up and down his shaft. 

Miguel tore your underwear off of you, as if it was like taking a sticker off a piece of fruit. You felt yourself drip down your thighs, unsure whether or not it was okay to touch yourself while watching this Greek god of a man pleasure himself with your spit, watching your tense cunt beg him to stuff it. 

“Like what you see?” He asked, slipping his finger into his mouth and moaning long and deep when he tasted your sweet slick on his tongue. You nodded vigorously, grabbing one of your tits to entice him even further. “Why don’t you take that off while we’re ahead?” 

You quickly tossed off your shirt and bra, completely naked on the desk. Miguel softly laughed, watching how nicely you obeyed him. 

“You're too easy, y’know that?” With a few more pumps to his shaft, he harshly grabbed one of your thighs and spread your legs even further, admiring your wet pussy. 

The moan you two let out when he put his cock inside of you could've been heard by the whole building if it hadn't been well past 10 pm and everyone had gone for the day. His girthy member dared to split you in half, the sheer size of him was far too much to handle, especially all at one. We watched with pleasure as your breathy moans turned into agonized whimpers the further he drove into you. When he had finally gone balls deep inside of you, there was an obvious cock bulge deep inside of you as he stretched out your pussy wonderfully. 

“M-Miguel…” You sighed, a bead of sweat rolling down your temple. 

“Oh, so this can keep your attention but me slaving away on your homework can’t?” He smugly asked, pulling out before slamming into you with a grunt. You wailed, scratching the hard surface of the desk underneath you, crumpling stray pieces of scratch paper into your palm while arching your back. 

Miguel started at a rough pace, making room out of your tight pussy for his intimidating cock, juices slicking the shaft of his member, and sounds of your wet pussy gushing paired with the creaking of the table filled the room, moans, and mewls adding to euphonious music of your fucking. 

“So fucking tight… so fucking tiny… I bet I could fold you like a pretzel,” He said amusingly, grabbing the backs of your thighs and pushing the fronts of them against your chest. You cried out loud, new depth being explored by his commanding dick while he used you for his pleasure. 

With his massive hands, he spread his fingers out, his thumbs on the backs of your thighs and his four fingers on the small of your back, grabbing onto you so he could bring you up and down on his deep thrusts. 

You were seeing stars at this point, scared your arousal would drip onto your homework papers and soil all the progress you’ve made. But it didn’t matter anymore when you threw your head back onto the table and shook in his hands, pussy clenching around his meaty cock and milking him for his own cum. 

“Ngh- What did I say? Easy…” He moaned, thrusting inside of you a few more times before he shot a huge load inside of your tiny pussy, cum leaking out between where your sexes met and rolling down your asscheeks. 

You lay there on the table, shaking like a leaf in the wind. Miguel watched entranced as your shared cum leaked out of you, finger fucking it back inside of you, wondering if it he could stuff it all back in. He quickly realized your overstimulated cunt couldn’t take it as tears welled in your eyes. 

“Sorry,” He said, removing his fingers. “Now uh… where were we?” He picked up the page of work, then his face dropped, looking at the splotch of cum that had spilled out on accident. 

“On second thoughts… you might want to turn this in online.”

Tag List: @fuckmachine42069 @pasdasin @alien-girl-violet

Next: Cloning - Kakashi x Reader

[d1s1ntegrated]

hiii im back again !!!

can i request shiggy hcs for a reader who chronically bed rots (i was trying to find a better word for it instead of chronically but alas) but they basically just stay in bed watching whatever and sleeping (forgetting to eat is also a habit of mine when i do it ;-;)? thank u <33

OFC U CAN!!! i am also a chronic rotter. i know how it feels bb i got u!

bed rotting x shigaraki hcs

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

the first time tomura saw you bed rot, he thought you were sick.

"are you okay?? are you getting up?"

when you explained you just...couldn't...he nodded and crawled into bed next to you.

he and you both understand it's not the healthiest, but he's no stranger to a bad habit or two.

so when he learns that some days are just gonna be harder than others, he prepares like a mf

we're talking doomsday prepping.

he and a few other league members will go out and steal a bunch of shit: snacks, water bottles, etc

charges all the electronics and makes sure there are chargers nearby

gets nice clean pjs to lay in for you

regardless of whether its related to a chronic illness, mental shit, or not, he makes sure he learns what you need, if anything during that time.

because thats what he would want for himself :( thats what he needed. he understands it

helps you brush your hair out (he kinda sucks at it but hes doing his best okay)

sleeps next to you when you're sleeping, because gods know he needs it too

especially likes to watch shitty animated movies with you when you guts are awake

will send you memes/posts instead of showing them to you even though you're right. there.

you guys dont have to say anything to each other for hours on end, and you're still content just being there together.

plays dumb games on his phone

shows you him bullying villagers off his animal crossing island to get you to laugh

"i fucking hate barold hes so fucking ugly GET OFF MY FUCKING ISLAND YOU PLEB" (sorry barold lovers shiggy is NAWT a fan)

if you forget to eat, he will also forget, until you hear his stomach rumble and you both go "oh fuck"

adhd mode as fuck

gotta keep the big lights off for this

if you're the only one in that headspace, he'll do his best to just be there for you and make sure you take care of yourself

even if that means dragging you by a foot to brush your teeth or at least have a quick rinse in the shower

cause he knows if you dont, you'll feel bad for not

but he's very gentle and understanding always, because hes been there

and he will continue to be there regardless

all he cares about is that you're at least safe and healthy with him

cuddles and kisses you incessantly

just loves being next to you always, this just gives him an excuse to be clingy

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

okay this was really cute, also helped me channel some of my own personal guilt ab bed rotting ;-;

thank u for the request <3

shit like this gives me the motivation to not only keep writing, but to be kinder to myself, because thats what shig would want. i hope this has the same effect for you guys.

love u all, take care of urself <3

[intimidating-fettuccine]

I js thought of smthn rlly funny 😭😭 yk those soundboard things that just have a bunch of meme audios on them?? I feel like BEN would use them a lot but in real life LMFAOOO especially considering I know that u headcanon that he can fuck around with electronics and shit 😭 I’m imagining him and Jeff talking together and Jeff says something outrageous and you hear the vine boom sound effect coming from every device in the room lol

Oh I fully endorse this headcanon, 100%. BEN takes advantage of his powers for comedic effect all the time. He won’t do it every single time, but every now and then someone says or does something and BEN will just make the funniest meme that’s applicable sound from every device in the room at any given time. I feel like he also would do that to be funny and catch someone off guard, if someone is just alone in a room by themselves and BEN just starts blasting like an old vine or something. Very on brand

[twiixr4kidz]

wut music do u think the evil exes would listen to?? (spto specifically lolz)

IM GLAD U ASKED HELLO?????? if there's one ting i love more than scent headcanons, IT'S MUSIC HEADCANONS.

matthew patel:

HE'S A FUCKING EMO!!!!!! LOOK AT HIM!!!!!!

loves my chemical romance

other favorite bands are the used, saosin, n chiodos

he probably listens to sea shanties too LMFAOAOA

lucas lee:

he's a little hard to pinpoint..........

i feel like he doesn't listen to music that often?? something about being too busy with movies or hanging out with gordon goose............

play any of the tony hawk game soundtracks for him and he'll be chillin in no time

todd ingram:

definitely likes harder music

i can see him listening to rammstein honestly

also probably likes shitty dad rock

seether, skillet, three days grace, HE PROBABLY LISTENS TO NICKLEBACK TOO OK I DON'T MAKE THE RULES

roxie richter:

ANOTHER EMO OMG!!!!!!

she's very much a pierce the veil emo

i feel like she listens to a lot of emo bands that toe the line of being scene

sleeping with sirens, snow white's poison bite.............

ok maybe im projecting but she listens to D.R.U.G.S.

kyle katayanagi:

obviously loves electronic music

i feel like he'd fucking with breathe carolina

also likes a lot of rave music

and i can see him listening to limp bizkit but just chocolate starfish and hot dog flavored water, none of their other albums

ken katayanagi:

similarly to kyle, he loves electronic music

definitely anything edm-y

probably likes lofi shit too honestly

n for some reason i can see him as the kind of guy who appreciates classical music on another level

gideon graves:

he's really hard to place LMFAO

i feel like he'd fuck with weezer and radiohead

but at the same time, he KNOWS music

definitely listens to a little bit of everything

[impishjesters]

Little Thoughts

warning(s): suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideations, child neglect, child abuse, suicidal thoughts of a child, abuse, financial abuse, hurt/comfort(?), mentioned manipulation, casual talk about death/dying, pre-relationship, uncertain reactions (basically Jax nor you really know how to go about the situation), implied crush (both ways) A/N: This was written for myself, read it or don't, I don't care. I just wanted validation and acceptance from somewhere, even if it's fictional...

“Do you ever just wish you were dead?”

Jax slowed his oncoming approach towards you, blinking in confusion. “What happened to, hi? Hello? How are you?” He heard you scoff and crossed his arms loosely in thought. Sure, he was used to hearing some pretty questionable things from you, but you’d never flat out ask him—or anyone else for that matter—if they wanted to be dead.

“Well?”

“Uh, can’t say I do. Sure, this place sucks but think of all the entertainment I’d miss out on if I was, ya know—” he swiped his thumb across his neck and made a noise, “—dead.”

“You’ve been here longer. Aren’t you tired?”

What was this? Morbid fifty questions?

“You doin’ alright there sugar?” Jax circled around you, allowing you to see him long before he approached you taking a seat beside you. “I know you usually say some pretty…intense shit, but this is a little too intense even for you.”

You shot him a blank stare. Huh, you did say some pretty out-of-pocket stuff when it came to the dark subject—but to ask him flat out if he ever wanted to just be dead? That was new, but it was a valid question in your mind.

How could they choose to suffer instead of just dying?

“This isn’t anything new… I’m not like you guys. I haven’t been here for years on end gradually going mad.”

“Hey, rude. I’m not nearly as bonkers as Rags or King-face.”

He got a playful eye roll from you and that was more than enough of a win for his little joke. Sure it was a serious topic but he didn’t do so well during talks like this.

“I’ve always been like this… for as long as I can remember, as a child I thought it’d just be better if I was dead. That way my family could stop fighting, and I could stop being the rag doll in their arguments.”

As you spoke the grin that was glued to his face started to fall, slipping bit by bit until his lips ran flat. What child wants to kill themselves? He remembers his childhood not being the greatest but he never thought about death, that’s for sure.

“We didn’t have a lot of money growing up, they’d spend it on unnecessary stuff and worry about food and bills later until years of it caught up and put them in a bind.” Your gaze fell to your hands, fingers picking and peeling at the flesh. “Most would say I was a very spoiled kid, I always got toys and the holidays were jam-packed with even more unnecessary toys for a growing child to outgrow.”

He had a feeling he knew where this was going…

“But I didn’t want that, I didn’t want all those toys. Expensive or cheap, I never asked for any of them. If my eyes made contact with something and lingered just a second too long they’d buy it for me.” You sighed, looking up at Jax. “All I wanted was my family to give me the time of day, to play with me. To love me.”

“Fuck, I’m..” he hesitated, saying sorry felt pointless, that was ages ago and he wasn’t there. He wasn’t at fault but he couldn’t even imagine that—his own parents argued but they kept him out of it.

“It’s fine you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

He shuffled in place awkwardly, how are you supposed to respond to that? Luckily he doesn’t need to because you are already looking away and took a deep breath before continuing.

“It never got better, toys became electronics and games. Because of my family, I didn’t get to socialize growing up and I’d be quiet and withdrawn at school. The older I got the more vocal they started to get about me, even though they didn’t want me they kept me chained down and limited my ability to fight them.”

“What they lock ya up or somethin’?”

“They didn’t need to, I had no reason to leave the house. I didn’t have friends, we didn’t have stores or anything fun to do that wasn’t an hour’s drive away.” He hates the way you laugh so casually about it. “No, they’d limit any money I’d receive making sure I’d spend it instead of save it. I used to think it was their way of trying to make sure I wouldn’t run away, but even if I didn’t have savings that wouldn’t have stopped me from leaving with nothing but the clothes on my back.”

“Why didn’t ya?”

“I was a coward.”

Jax snorted and caught your attention. “You were a child, not a coward.”

“Whatever, pointless to think about it now. Did me fat lotta good in the end anyways, here I am trapped in this hell hole where the closest thing to death is abstracting.” A dry laugh left you at the irony. “I can’t even fucking off myself properly.”

The two of you simply sat in silence for a few minutes, neither of you seemingly aware of how to continue the conversation. There was no reason to give Jax the whole sob story that didn’t matter anyway, and he couldn’t think of a response.

Sure he wasn’t the greatest at times but he didn’t want you to just…die… but he wasn’t going to try and guilt trip you into living for him. Even if that outcome sounded far better than you dying, he could live with a guilty conscience—probably…

“You don’t have to worry about responding, I sort of just… dropped that all on you. It’s fine, it’s the past.”

“Still doesn’t change that ya still feel like ya should’ve died because your family sucks.” You shot him an unimpressed look and he shrugged. “I’m just sayin’, you were just a kid stuck with a shit family and should’ve been given help a lot sooner.”

“Gee, thanks—”

“I’m not done,” he used your name, no silly or insulting nicknames, “someone should’ve done something, I know people are stupid and think if they just look away it’ll be fine. But someone should’ve stepped in, it’s still abuse, it’s neglect.”

It went unspoken about how you clearly didn’t seek any form of therapy or help as you got older, he already felt like he was pushing it saying what he did.

“Look nothing I say is gonna make ya not wanna pop yourself, but it’s different now. Yeah, ya stuck here but you aren’t alone, and the others like ya.”

“What about you?”

“Me?” he blinked, you weren’t asking him if he…

“Do you like me?”

Jax coughed into his hand, casually turning himself to face the same direction as you. He refused to budge even when you turned yourself to face him, he was not gonna lose his cool.

“Ya alright, better than King-face and Rags that’s for sure.”

His answer pleased you enough to pull back but still face towards him. Occasionally, you’d see him peeking over to see if you were still looking at him until he finally kept his gaze forward.

“Thank you Jax.”

It felt wrong to accept your thanks, he didn’t do anything. But again you responded for him, as if knowing his plight.

“Thank you for sitting here with me, and listening… nobody’s ever listened to me before and not tried to justify what they did like I was the one at fault. You don’t need to feel like you have to have done something to be thanked.”

His shoulders shrugged before relaxing, his gaze that had glued itself to nothing finally turning to you. “Look just, promise me if you get those icky thoughts again you’ll come to me instead of stewing in them okay?” He saw you hesitate and cautiously reached out for your hand. “Promise me.”

You sighed. “Fine, I promise…” Ironically, you didn’t think you could trust anyone but Jax with this sort of information. Personal feelings aside.

“Good, now shut ya face and enjoy my presence and this beautiful moonlight night.” He threw his arm around you and pulled you closer, hand lingering at your side. He was going to make sure not to take advantage of this information, he wanted things to be genuine and not manipulated—as easy as it would be for him.

If the two of you were stuck here he wanted your feelings towards him, and vice versa to be genuine before taking the next step.

[bucky-barnes-lover]

Kinktober day 15: Kinks listed below

Fic: Sebastian Stan

Daddy turned Father:

Dad to be!Sebastian Stan x Wife!reader

Warnings: Slight pregnancy kink, Cursing, SMUT 18+, Pregnancy talk, Going to the Doctor's (Does that even count?)

W.C: 1305

I figure this didn't turn out great but I've had a busy week and I'm tired so, if u like it please re blog. Thanks

I'm sick. Really sick. Every Morning for the past 2 weeks I've been waking up with a horrible stomach ache and the need to vomit. I haven't told Sebastian though since he's been away filming for the past couple weeks. But, doing the logical thing I went to the doctor.

"So y/n, I think we'll do an ultrosound just to make sure you don't have a stomach bug or something anymore serious. You did however pass all the blood, heart and senses tests with flying colours so it cannot be anything got to do with your brain." Said the doctor.

"Thank goodness! I love my brain." I replied sarcastically.

"I'm sure most of us do y/n"

Dr. Mayladd led me over to the ultrasound room as she handed me a blue papery hospital gown. Addressing me to remove my shirt and put the gown on instead.

"Gosh that's scratchy" I complained making my way over to the examination chair, leaning back as far as the chair would go.

"You'll only have to wear it for a couple minutes, I'm sure you can handle that"

"Of course doctor" I moaned playfully, causing a small laugh to escape the Dr's perfect red lips.

"I'm going to spread some jelly on your stomach okay, it'll be a little bit cold but it won't be for long okay"

"Sure" I answered, boredom creeping into my voice.

"Oh y/n. You sound like an annoyed teenager, brighten up a bit. You could either get home to your husband knowing you have bowel cancer or are expecting a baby." She told me, sounding a little bit too enthusiastic talking about cancer.

"Yeah, thanks but I'd rather not have either"

"You don't want children?" The Dr asked me, sounding a little less excited.

I let out a loud sigh before explaining to the Dr exactly what I was thinking.

"Yes, I do. I do want children. It's just that Sebastian has been away filming for a good while and we never really discussed when we would want to start a family. So I'm not sure if this is the right time."

Dr. Mayland rubbed some cold blue jelly over my stomach, through the hole that was cut in a circle right over the tummy. Then she connected a couple wires to an ultrasound remote, which kind of took the shape of a jade roller, just thicker and electronic. She started rolling the remote across my stomach spreading the jelly with it.

Eyes focused on the computer machine as the remote scanned my skin. Suddenly a small shape, about the size of a blueberry came into view.

It was undeniably a baby.

"Well, you are pregnant and it looks as if you're about 7 weeks along. Would you like me to print off the photos?"

Said Dr. Mayladd as she continued scanning over my stomach.

"Yes please." I responded, overwhelmed at the fact that I am carrying a child.

"OK. Give me a second to do that."

The Dr. responded, a few seconds later I heard a faint buzzing sound and then she turned around to face me. A roll of what looked like Polaroids in her hand. Putting them in a small box, along with a card before she handed it to me. With a note of congratulations, I left the Dr's office.

The drive home was stressful. The radio was playing 'Starlight' by Taylor Swift. One of my favorite songs, but I couldn't pay attention to it. Crazy thoughts running through my brain. What if Seb doesn't want kids right now, What if the pregnancy goes wrong. What if, what if, was all I could think of right now.

As I arrived home, I almost drove away, seeing my husband's car in the driveway. Shit. How do I tell him?

Leaving all my thoughts in the backseat of the car, I unlocked the front door. Immediately greeted by soft kisses escalating down my neck.

"Hi baby." "How are you?" I asked him as he pecked my lips.

"I'm good. You?" He questioned, pointing towards the doctor's receipt in my hand.

"Oh, Well." I hesitated, struggling to find the words to say to him. Not knowing if I should even tell him right now.

"Well, I'm pregnant."

Sebastian stared at me for a couple seconds, clearly starstruck by the news that he's going to be a father.

"Y/n. Are you serious?"

"Yes. That's why I went to the doctor today. I've been sick almost every morning since you were away, which is ironic now that I think about it. Considering we had a pretty fun night a couple days before you went off for shooting."

"But yeah, I'm 7 weeks along." I uttered anxiously.

"Shit y/n. We're gonna be parents."

Sebastian yelled, happiness clear in his tone and visible in his full smile.

"That is if you want to keep it." He added on, seeing my scared expression.

"Yes, baby, I want to keep it, I'm just scared. We haven't really discussed this much, since you've been away a lot." I expressed.

"Doll, there is nobody else I would rather have children with than you. I love you with all my heart, please acknowledge that." He reasoned.

"Now. We have to celebrate" Sebastian continued.

Picking me up and carrying me up the stairs to our shared bedroom.

Running to the bed, I undress into my bra and panties, my husband doing the same.

"Babydoll, I'm gonna fuck you so good you'll have another baby in you soon enough" He chuckled as he unclipped my bra. Grabbing my breasts in his hands, kneading them as he trailed kisses up and down my neck.

Sweet moans escaped my lips all the while Sebastian sucked on the sensitive skin along my neck. I reached down to his groin and palmed him through his boxers, earning a desperate moan from him. Dropping to his knees, towering over me he grabbed my underwear, tugging as I lifted up my hips letting them slide down. Feeling Sebastian's rough fingers slide along my slit, into my wet hole.

"Damn Mama. You're so wet already. Wonder how well you could take my cock" He muttered, adding a second finger into my entrance. Pumping in and out. My moans grew more desperate as he pumped faster inside of me, rubbing my clit with his thumb. I knew he could feel I was close, because he stopped just as I was on the verge of cumming.

"Ahh. Seb, what was that for" I moaned out, annoyed at his act.

"Not so fast mama. Don't you think I would let you cum that easily without you cumming all over my cock." He growled.

Removing his boxers, he lined himself up with my entrance before thrusting his hips slowly. I groaned, feeling myself stretch as he worked his thick cock through me.

"Oh Seb" I moaned as he thrusted into me harder and harder. Hitting the right spot each and every time.

"Fuck Mama, you're so tight for me." He moaned. Bucking his hips against my own as his thrusts became much, much harder. Digging even deeper into me. Causing me to scream out his name. "Fuck Sebastian!!" I screamed, the pleasure almost too much. I felt Sebastian's fingers trace over my sensitive clit. Rubbing it in a soft circular motion.

My pussy clenched around his cock. So tight and so close. Sebastian's finger grazed my clit one more time, sending me over the edge. A couple moments later, after one last deep thrust, Sebastian came inside me.

"Fuck babydoll. You feel so good" He moaned, still working his cock inside me. I only moaned in response. The pleasure was overwhelming.

If this was what pregnancy would be like, I don't know why I'd be so scared, becoming a mum.

[mantequillamcwhoremick]

Hi! I ended up reading through Choas Plan in pretty much two days (your writing is actually phenomenal) but I was actually curious on your inspirations to write it? Did it come from any other particular works or maybe episodes from sp?

WHAT NO WAY😭😭😭😭😭😭WHAT THE HELL THAT'S SO NICE HOLY SHIT THANK YOU SO MUCH <33333

You can't just ask me shit like that dude I will respond with a huge fucking essay I LOVE questions like that!!!!

I honestly have several inspirations, many come from the show itself and some I've drawn from cyber crime documentaries and books I like (namely the Six of Crows duology by Leigh Bardugo, you might recognize the scene with Mysterion and Harris in chapter 3 is very VERY similar to the one between Kaz and Jan Van Eck at the beginning of the book), but if you've read the notes in the fic you might have seen that the story idea was initially born when I was playing TFBW.

The Idea

The U-Stor-It scene where Butters/Chaos locks the C**n and Friends in the facility and talks to them through a screen was just so fascinating to me, it reminded me a lot of Jinx from Arcane and the Joker in The Dark Knight (especially because of the flashy decorations and graffiti). Mainly the story evolved from the question I posed to myself in that moment, which was: "What needs to happen for Butters to become someone like Jinx?" and that's how I started brainstorming the backstory.

The Backstory

Obviously that was inspired mainly by Linda's behavior in Butters' Very Own Episode, but it features elements from stuff all over the series and the games that prove just how fucked up Butters' parents are and treat him.

(Remember when in TFBW he mentioned that they bought an electronic lock system to keep him in his room because he left the bathroom once while grounded? yeah, that convinced me Butters' home life probably would only get worse with the years, especially with him entering his teens & puberty, and Post Covid honestly just confirmed that.)

The Villain/Hero Concept

I hadn't yet watched much more of South Park than up until seasons 15/16 so I didn't know about Post Covid's Vic Chaos yet, I mostly just wanted to do something with Mysterion and Chaos that had a darker and serious tone without either of them having any Marvel-esque powers or tech-organizations aiding them, something closer to the South Park lore at hand and realistic enough to feel like it could happen in our world.

Chaos' Methods

With Butters having a knack for Internet-related shit and him being able to hack into a baseball stadium screen to broadcast his evil plans in the Professor Chaos episode, and ofc his whole thing in TFBW and the episode of him becoming a pimp, I figured he has the stuff to be a hacker and entrepreneur.

I started getting spoilered a lot on the whole Vic Chaos and NFT scammer thing so even though I hadn't watched Post Covid I drew a lot of inspiration from that as well. I've been watching a lot of documentaries on Cryptocurrency scams and other cyber crime related stuff, so yeah all that shit also gets my brain generating a bunch of ideas as well.

Mysterion

As for Kenny/Mysterion's side of the story- I'm a huge fan of the "criminal who gets paid by a shitty pig/capitalist who would normally never hire them to take on a job" concept in Six of Crows, so that's how I got Harris involved, later further fueled by his Thin White Line arc in TFBW.

The way Kenny used his death powers in the C**n & Friends episodes I found very intriguing, and I absolutely LOVE playing around with them, so I included my own interpretation & spin of it as an active "superpower" he uses in order to be successful enough as a vigilante to be taken seriously. His canon powers separate him from your average humanbeing. It's a way to show the audience "hey look, Kenny really is just some guy, but also no one else could take on this role, ever. He may not have super strength or speed or money for equipment backing him, but he can get into places and out like no other person ever."

Coming up with a kryptonite-type weakness was also super fun, because I didn't want things to just be too easy. Mainly it's his need to remain anonymous, but the biggest reason for that need is because he needs to keep up his ability to financially support Karen. That, I obviously got from the show-, namely episodes like Mysterion Rises, The Poor Kid and City Part of Town, but his dynamic with Karen got increasingly more interesting and influenced in the fic after I played the TFBW DLC From Dusk Til Casa Bonita. The fact that he's so obsessed with keeping her safe the best way he knows how but completely overlooks to consider letting her have a say in it, is absolutely delicious. Like fuck yes, let's go complicate these character relationships (rubs hands evilly)

TL;DR

Inspirations come from all over, but of course the main ones do come from the show and games. Kenny and Butters have always been increasingly fascinating characters to me the more I watched the show, so the fact that Kenny canonically is the only kid Butters respects (source: s16, Ep "Going Native"), to an extent that in the future Butters funded his entire career, I thought had a shit ton of potential. Hence their friendship in the fic before "the incident", and the way Butters goes about Kenny now that he's taking over the town >:)))

Thank you SO SO MUCH for the ask!!!! I hope I didn't ramble too much for what you actually wanted to know, but I just absolutely love sharing my inspirations for this fic. Really gets my brain go brrrrr heheheh I'm so so grateful that this interests you <33333

[iwas-princess]

I jus got the most perfect request

OK SO BASICALLY LETS SAY RIN AND YN ARE BEST FREINDS THEN RIN SEES THAT YN POSTED SUM LIKE “when his name starts with a r” AND HES LIKE CONFUSED AND THEN WHEN HE ASKS HER AB IT SHES LIKE “rin I want to be YOUR princess” DJDJDKDKSK

stop this is such a beautiful concept

suna rintaro • the one kept secret

“shit, i lost again.” rintaro mumbled to himself, his long fingers tapping his phone screen violently as he fought against some random opponent on his newly downloaded combat app— one he’ll soon forgot about within a month, you were sure.

the delicious smell of a cookie dough candle filled his living room, your insistence of the smelly area finally had him agreeing to let you lend him your favorite candle as a ‘welcoming home present’ after a month of your begging. the sounds of his thumbs thumping against the electronic device filled the naturally darkened room, his black out curtains doing more than enough to keep him satisfied.

suna was so content with the energy he created tonight, his mind occupied with the focus of a fresh game to entertain him and the area looking the exact aesthetic he wanted.

black and white tapestries covered his ivory walls, designs of random gothic art and skeletons crowded the small space, led strips lined the room and lit it up with a red glow— just as he always preferred.

his black shag rug let his bare left foot rest on it as his long leg dangled off of his couch, the other limb sitting on the arm of the sofa comfortably as he finally prepared to play against atsumu, a long awaited match that rintaro desperately tried to level up for as much as he could beforehand to ensure victory.

just as he was about to begin the fight, a notification from snapchat popped on his screen.

subconsciously, his eyes flickered to the top of his screen, catching your name on a story update.

he blinked, contemplating whether he should’ve waited to look and finish the round or leave to see whatever you posted.

deciding that you could’ve waited a few minutes, he clicked the ruby start button and watched in anticipation as atsumu’s character said their signature opening line.

halfway through his match, a loud ping on his phone irrupted the quiet atmosphere of the room causing his eyes to widen at the sudden loud noise and nearly loose to the cocky blonde.

the notification was an imessage from osamu that read ‘dude, have u seen y/n’s story?’

“fuck, the one time i don’t check it right away.” he grumbled to the empty air of his apartment, sighing at he paused the game reluctantly.

‘nah not yet, y?’ he replied.

he stared at the typing dots as the other twin responded, awaiting the answer to his question.

‘go check. like now.’

—

“y/n can i ask you something and i need you to be one hundred percent honest. i’m a judgment free-zone, as you are aware-“

you threw a green grape at him as he nearly started to ramble, a small giggle leaving your mouth as it hit his cheek.

“just spit it out, rin. you know i never keep anything from you.”

he narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously before flicking the discarded grape away from his leg where it landed, causing it to fly your way.

“quit it.” you whined.

he smiled lazily and shrugged, his pale hands tucked into the pockets of his black joggers and fiddling with a vape in one and his phone in the other.

he didn’t want to dance around the question, he really didn’t, and rintaro certainly wasn’t the type to anyway— especially with you.

ever since you two met, you clicked and had been inseparable since. every crush, sexual encounter, breakup, argument, relationship or whatever, was admitted shamelessly with one another every weekend, a slumber party being thrown in celebration of secret spilling.

personal questions were often asked without regard for privacy, and each time you both would tell the other without hesitation, knowing that your answer would be held securely and no judgement would be given.

so this didn’t seem like any different, really. he asked you about crushes whenever he suspected them, and you never felt uncomfortable about it then— certainly you wouldn’t now, right?

except, this time it wasn’t a random boy in your calc class who smelled nice and always glanced your way with a doe eyes look or a girl at the coffee shop that smiled too sweetly at you as she handed you your order— this was rintaro that he suspected you liked.

his eyes locked with yours, trying to sense a spark of interest on your behalf (which he failed at finding.), before speaking.

“do you like me?”

you furrowed your brows at the question, a scoff leaving your lips as you chewed on a grape.

“of course i like you, why do you think i’ve put up with your shit for so long, rinnie? you’re my best friend, i have to like you or else there would be an issue.” you answered, a little dumbfounded that he asked such an obvious question.

why wouldn’t you like him? you spent every weekend at his dirty apartment, gossiping over popcorn and a movie you had no interest in, willingly. in fact, you would even say that these special two days each week made your life so much more worth living, if you had to, of course. but you’d never tell him that.

“not like that, y/n.” rintaro swallowed thickly. “do you have a crush on me?”

the world went silent as the question lingered in the air of his bedroom, your face suddenly pale and breathing seemingly more rapid. your blinks seemed to slow as your eyes trained on the lame action movie he insisted you watch, avoiding his gaze in fear of everything being given away.

after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence and the both of you awkwardly laying in his bed together, you took a deep breath in before answering his question.

“no.”

his brows shot up in surprise for a fleeting moment before they furrowed again, confusion settling on his face.

he was sure that he analyzed everything correctly after your post, going over memories that he flagged as ‘odd occurrences’ with you over the years, even looking over text messages that seemed too flirty.

after collecting plenty enough evidence, he concluded that his best friend, y/n y/l/n, had a fat crush on him for quite some time now.

five years to be exact.

from the moment that you kissed him on new years, to the time you asked him to take your virginity on your nineteenth birthday, suna brushed it off as you just trusting him enough with your body and most sacred moments, never thinking too much about it until recently.

but as he stared at his popcorned ceiling every night since your story, he began to piece everything together— almost everything.

“no?” he repeated, stunned and in disbelief.

you had to be embarrassed and just telling him something to shut him up, hoping that he’d drop it and never bring it up again, right? just as you had with all of your other crushes in high school. maybe you picked up the pattern again, he hoped.

“nope.”

“y/n, i know. i know that you like me and it’s okay, i-i’m not weirded out by it, at all. i think it’s cool that you like-“

“just drop it.”

“no,” he sat up. “we have to talk about this y/n, it’s what we do. you like me, and that’s fine. it won’t change anything between us, i promise. i’ll pretend i don’t even know from now on and-“

“i don’t ‘like’ you, rintaro. i-i’m in love with you, okay? is that what you wanted to hear?” you snapped, your eyes closing as you spoke harshly.

he blinked, dumbfounded at the news.

in love? you were in love with him? for how long? how? why?

why hadn’t you told him? he was your best friend, the one you told practically everything to, even calling him every night to tell him about your day, even when it was the most boring occurrences. this was something huge, surely something you’d tell him if were anyone but him.

so what was so different? it was just rintaro, and he’d love you either way.

“you’re in love with me? are you sure?”

you scoffed, shaking your head in annoyance with the jet haired man beside you. you could feel the unpleasant sensation of tears building and the feeling made you want to curl under his oak bedframe and bawl until you couldn’t produce anymore tears.

“yes. i’m absolutely sure, unfortunately.” you grumbled back.

“oh.”

the new found information took a bit to fully soak into his brain, and once it had he was full of questions.

“why?” he asked first, not being a man of many words as usual.

“because, rintaro,” you sighed, finally accepting that this was the conversation of tonight as you kept your gaze on the boring movie before you began to speak thoughtfully. “you’re all i’ve ever wanted in a boyfriend. the way you talk about treating your future significant others is exactly what i want, and i guess at first the idea of it all made me develop a crush. then we started hanging out more and you began doing sweet things for me and got more attractive, i just fell? i don’t know how to explain it exactly but all i know is that you’re so perfect and i’m not. we would never work, and i’ve excepted that-“

his lips crashed with yours suddenly, taking your breath away as he did so. the unfamiliar yet wonderful feeling of his plush lips molding with yours as if he had done this a million times before caused a tear to roll down you cheek in bliss.

this was all you ever wanted, all you ever dreamed of and it wad finally happening without you even having to ask him first.

he pulled away just as your tongue grazed his bottom lip, attempting to deepen the kiss.

you nearly frowned at the denial, fearful that he began to regret his actions.

but just as your lips were about to downturn, his slender finger pressed against them.

“i’ve wanted to do that every since you baked me those pot brownies.” he admitted, breathless and face flushed.

your eyed widened at his confession, cheeks heating and world spinning around you as you recalled that night.

“but, rinnie, that was two years ago-“

“i know.”

“why didn’t you kiss me before tonight then?”

his eyes flickered to your lips, watching the plump skin part as you breathed nervously— awaiting his response.

“i’m not sure. i thought about it, every night- but i just couldn’t risk scaring you off. you’re my best friend, y/n; i can’t live without you. ever.” his voice was softer than you’ve ever heard it, and held as much emotion as he could express in a sentence without crying.

it was true, he had always wanted to kiss you until your lips were swollen and you were giggling with butterflies in your stomach. maybe, he realized in this past few minutes, he loved you too.

he was sure you were the reason he never dated any of the pretty girls that gave him their numbers, he had been pretty admin about that for some time now. but, he only thought that it was because you were the only girl he needed in his life for now, you were enough to keep him happy until you got a boyfriend of you own.

but, maybe it was something deeper now.

“then you don’t have to.” you whispered.

with that, he kissed you once more, but this time deepening the kiss himself.

the kiss held unspoken passion and wordless love exchanges, all of the pent up emotions healthily expressed themselves with each mold of your lips.

after a few minutes, he pulled away to catch his breath and to look at your worked up state for the first time.

the room filled with the sound small heavy breaths, hearts thumping nervously against both of your chests, desperate to touch each other finally. you both laid in his bed, trying to catch your breaths and register everything that had happened within such short period of time.

“y/n? can i ask you something?” he asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

you hummed in agreement, still breathless and in slight shock of his confessions.

“what was it exactly about how i wanted to love my girlfriends that drew you in?” he asked, a small smirk threatening to sprawl on his face.

you evened your breath finally, reaching up to cup his face as you began to speak.

“the whole princess treatment plan you had, everything you said that you wanted to do with her; like driving her everywhere and carrying her in the apartment everyday after trips, stuff like that. why?”

“wanna be my princess?” he asked bluntly.

a large smile spread across your face at his question, your heart thumping rapidly against your ribs.

you were already so in love with this man but you were certain that he couldn’t have asked you out any more perfectly.

“i would love to be your princess.”

[crushedsweets]

Do you have and hcs of how Toby and Ben would act together? - Hoodie

YES SORT OF . u know the drill this is my au and bens story is one that i changed a lot so here we go :9

ok toby younger brother family trauma issues lonely grew up isolated etc. ben only child got killed by neighbor for absurd vr theory now inhabits a virus-ghost-form that he partially shares with several other dead kids.

toby and ben wouldnt have gotten along before ben died. only because ben was just. a 13 yr old boy addicted to video games ... those kids r mean, and toby was heavily bullied in his childhood. the ONLY reason bens not a huge dick anymore is bc his 'form' itself is fucked up (he glitches, he has an electronic vocal fry and occasional stutter from glitches, he has a weird glow to him, sickly drowned boy skin, veins look like those green code lines, red/black eyes, HE'S LITERALLY DRESSED LIKE LINK). bens not exactly insecure about any of this, but he knows damn well he cannot make fun of a tic without toby shooting back 10x harder.

which ok yeah kinda sad that ben has to look weird for him to not be mean but .. . like . . yeah. it is what it is.

they met mmm... maybe when toby was around 21? jeff would be 16, and ben wouldve been 14. SOOO toby doesnt really TRY to befriend ben. he's too old for him and has no interest in being besties w some kid. but he has a job to stop ben from tormenting people online and drawing attention to weird ghost sites and whatnot, so he started talking to all sorts of ai- cleverbot being the main, of course.

of all the proxies, tobys the only one ben likes. tobys a dick, but he has his moments where he's funny and gets distracted during a mission, so he's sat and rambled and bickered with the ai on slow nights. ben immediately knew everything about toby, because he has access to every single file on tobys computer, phone, etc.

ben SCARED THE SHIT out of toby upon their first meeting. he crawled out of tobys janky ass computer one day and toby nearly threw up from being so freaked out. yeah, he's killed people and whatever, BUT GHOSTS R FUCKING SCARY (and he has .trauma with ghosts and hallucinations of them (lyra)). ben already knew exactly who toby worked for, what toby was doing, and thought it was beyond funny. ben was the first being who already knew all the slenderman lore because he spends literally. every. second. on the internet. he is basically the internet. and he watches them, listens through their phones, watches, etc. he doesnt know the details perfectly tho cuz technology gets weird around slednerman/the operator. so toby thought that was helpful, in a sense.

so pretty quickly ben was fond of toby. thought he was like, that cool older brother of your friend. the main issue was the proxies at this time were trying to find and kill jeff because he was infected by the operator and slenderman deemed him 'too far gone.'

ben was actually the one who proposed the whole 'okay. so you want me to stop terrorizing kids online. fair. now ive noticed you keep trying to kill my friend(jeff). stop that and we can be cool :3'.

eventually they all came to some weird agreement where. ben will stop haunting people, the proxies will stop trying to kill jeff, jeff has to stop doing his 'full course' murders, and eventually, ben just likes them enough to start helping them with cctv, police files, etc. it was a complicated agreement that eventually ended in friendship, sort of?

they play video games together. eventually toby does see him as a little brother. it's kinda unsettling because the proxies realize just how much power ben has when it comes to just...... leaking everything. toby thinks that 'ok well, if ben leaks stuff about us, we leak stuff about jeff, and now he has no friends and is lonely, so he can't.' but tim and brian are legitimately freaked out at the thought of their lives being ruined anymore than they already are, so theyre pretty courteous to ben

ben will really just hang around. toby can just be eating breakfast and ben will pop up and ask whats up. he's annoying and clingy, and he can tell toby is biting his tongue half the time. . but toby is grateful sometimes. bens laid back and funny, and toby could use some laughs, so its a decent time for them both

again, overall, toby is just kinda too old for ben(although ben wouldve been a year older than toby if he was alive), but ben is really funny, he's nice to toby, he plays video games with him, he comes and checks in on him randomly. so toby appreciates having a freaky ghost little brother thing hanging around. bens one of his fave people (which is only saying so much when the other people he talks to are like . . jeff)

[ask-lab-rats]

I love anon rock and explosion analysis and the anon who refers to knife as 015 lMAO anyways. Quick Lightbulb power analysis of mine (im doing this while studying energy....genuinely coincedental lol) What if Lightbulb's electrical energy comes from other forms of energy? We know as a matter of fact that enerrgy cannot be created nor destroyed, but it can be converted from one tyoe to the other.

Kinetic energy is a main component when it comes to electricy because of electrons and shit. And since lightbulb needs something to create kinetic energy, she eats food. So Lightbulb's energy can be simplified to this; Chemical energy (food resources) is converted to Heat and Kinetic energy. Kinetic energy mixes with Heat and then convers to electrical energy. The more lightbulb moves, the stronger her electricity gets.

Friction can aslo be a second factor and i wont explain it becomes my braincells just shut off lmao -13 ( previously :] )

CreatorNotes: Yeah, Lightbulbs electricity works like [food > human energy > electricity] I think.

If she doesn't have normal energy she can't use her powers, so if she's hungry or tired. And using her power leaves her tired.

But also the more she moves around the easier it is to use her powers.

So basically what u said lol

[bangers2]

Jane Remover - Census Designated (Long review)

i wrote this after reaching 100 followers on aoty. The AOTY version can be found here if u wanna read it on there.

Hey! Thank you all for your support on my reviews thus far. Bangers2 started out as an impulsive Tumblr blog where I'd post a song a day, but that got stale pretty quickly so I ended up on AOTY. And it was scary at first (I once got flamed by like 3 people for making an "I hardly know her" joke...that was nice) but I think in the past couple months I've sort of found a community over here. The album that REALLY got me into music spaces and encouraged me to start sharing my opinions / analyses was this one!

Census Designated (or Census/CD, as I'll probably refer to it throughout this review) has been pivotal to my life since before it came out. I first discovered Jane through her feature on underscores' Wallsocket (an album which I'll probably review in more detail soon), where I instantly fell in love with her vocals. I checked out the title track about a week after it dropped and thought it was so fresh. There was a unique sort of pain to the song which really resonated with me at the time, and I kept it on loop for weeks. I was so damn lonely and depressed from October to like...February, and found a lot of solace in Census, especially "Holding a Leech," my personal SOTY of 2023. For the first time in my life I tried to get mental health support, and this album made communicating my feelings and circumstances a lot easier. It gave a voice to what I'd kept buried all my life.

On the other side of all the shit I went through, I still listen to this album a lot. Sure, it takes me back to some of the worst times in my life, but the genius of the production and songwriting is undeniable. I can’t stop coming back to it, even though it breaks my heart. I truly and genuinely believe that Census Designated is a masterpiece.

Census Designated is the sophomore album by Jane Remover, an artist who got her start making electronic music (Frailty, Dariacore, etc.). However, Census is a straight-up rock album, with loud guitars and harsh walls of noise. The lyrics are just as harsh as the production, with fictional stories of abusive relationships, violence, and a lot of body horror. With that being said, despite how much I love Census, I wouldn’t recommend this album to anybody…unless they’re in the right headspace for it. If you go in expecting “Frailty 2,” you will come out with ear fatigue and a hefty dose of nightmare fuel.

WITH THAT BEING SAID. The harshness of the album - all of its jarring static and blood-curdling screaming - is balanced by incredibly catchy melodies and a lot of introspection. Jane’s vocals are really great - a huge improvement since Frailty and even the venturing tracks. She has an incredibly smooth voice, and I can tell she’s influenced by a lot of pop vocalists like Ariana. I'm a vocal technique nerd. I bet SHE's so lucky to have a voice like that.

Vocals aside, I love the instrumentations on here too! She uses the harsh noise and heavy guitars to further the turmoil in each track. They’re all explosive songs, starting out quite calm and eventually building up to a huge release towards the end. It works out really well; on songs like “Holding a Leech,” you can feel the slight numbness in her voice on the first chorus turn into loud, unimaginable desperation by the end of the song, as she chokes out “how much longer ‘till I’m truly alone?”

ALSO!! The lyrics are SO good. She's said in interviews that none of what she talks about really happened to her, they're just abstractions of feelings she had been having. I think her way of articulating these feelings is so evocative. You can't take anything here at face value, so you really have to Analyze for the lyrics to make sense. Even without reading them over and over, I feel like, for me personally, there was a clear feeling that each line evoked, and it's so cool how open ended so much of it is. My favourite lyrics are on the title track, which is fuelled with so much anger and pain that it's sort of overwhelming. Jane said the song is about the music industry and how it takes advantage of young artists. Despite not relating to that at all, I ~felt~ a lot of what she was saying, and saw myself in a lot of it.

Census Designated feels like a cautionary tale; a story of the absolute worst case scenario. Nightmare after nightmare. Boiling water being poured on hands. Jaws being broken. Cars being crashed. Desperation. Begging for forgiveness. Throwing up. Waking up feeling fine, despite it all. In the absence of the physical pain, there lies a pit in my stomach as I listen to these songs. A sense of uneasiness. A deep, unexplainable sorrow.

This album will not save your life. Not like Nurture or Sweetener or any of those albums where you come out of it feeling like everything will be okay. No, this is an album that is harrowing. So intensely horrifying, that you might start to recognize that something is wrong if you resonate with it. And there's something so important about that. I can't say that Census Designated /saved/ my life; but it did change it. And for that, it's become one of my favourite albums of all time.

...And a 10/10.

Thanks for reading. If you've ever felt like I did, I just want to say that everything will be okay, and this, too, shall pass. You will survive. You will find a way out of it. I believe in you. Keep going.

[lowkeychenle]

Lost & Wayward [NJM] (2)

Description: After the worst couple weeks of your life, you finally break down in the middle of an alleyway. Jaemin hears you and comes to comfort you, and little do you know, he's about to change your life--in more ways than one.

Genre: Fluff/Eventual smut

Content Warnings: I'm thinking maybe I'll put smut in the next part but for now still just fluff sorryyyy

Word Count: 2,833

Pairing: Na Jaemin x Reader (Canon!AU so all the Dreamies will be mentioned/appear)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Lost & Wayward Mini-Masterlist

Juliet's Masterlist

It’s been a couple days since you’ve heard from Jaeseok. You’ve come to enjoy his company, even if it’s only electronic. You also haven’t received any updates from Minji. You try not to worry, but this is the opportunity of a lifetime.

Although not hearing from Jaeseok put a damper on you. You hope Minji will get back to you soon so you can have a reason to text him. Logically, you know he’s busy with something. The man works crazy hours apparently, because he’s always there…wherever there is.

Minji doesn’t call you until the end of the week. She comes with good news, though—you got the job, and you’d be starting the following Monday. In three days.

You debate even telling Jaeseok at all. If he wants to talk to you, certainly he’d do it, right?

Mid-thought, your phone dings.

Jaeseok (6:34pm): sorry i’ve been mia…things have been really hectic here. how are you doing?

Oh, for the love of God. This man was too caring and nice for his own good. You try to think of what to send back, but you draw a blank. You’ll have to just tell him what’s on your mind, apparently.

You (6:35pm): no worries! i figured you were suuuuper busy considering they give you breaks for dinner instead of just letting you go home Jaeseok (6:35pm): clever You (6:36pm): you wish you could be as clever as me Jaeseok (6:36pm): you got me there. any job updates?? i’m on the edge of my seat and i’ve gotten zero texts :( You (6:38pm): Minji called me a little earlier today. i got it!! i’m so freaking excited Jaeseok (6:38pm): HELL YEAH Jaeseok (6:38pm): didn’t doubt u for a second

You pause. You’ve talked to him via text nearly every day, all day except the last few. Unfortunately, you also get attached easily. You can only hope this friendship will last. He’s been the best friend you’ve ever had in the course of a week.

Jaeseok (6:40pm): are you doing anything to celebrate?! this is seriously great stuff You (6:41pm): unfortunately u are the only friend i have…what am i gonna do if u can’t hang bc u’re working Jaeseok (6:41pm): first of all…unfortunately?? i’m so offended right now Jaeseok (6:42pm): and second of all, u don’t need to do anything crazy. just go…get your favorite meal or something. u deserve it You (6:43pm): are u working? Jaeseok (6:44pm): nope. dogsitting for my shithead friend You (6:44pm): come with me

When it takes a few minutes for him to respond, your brain whirls. You shouldn’t have done that. He’s probably only being friendly because he feels obligated. You’re the one who broke down in the alleyway, and the longer you think about it, the longer you wish you could erase that. What he saw was probably the worst version of you. Great.

You (6:50pm): sorry if that was weird…i don’t know why i would say something like that Jaeseok (7:34pm): holy shit i’m so sorry! this dog is driving me up a wall and i didn’t see you texted. it’s definitely not weird to ask and i really really wish i could come celebrate with you but i’ll have to raincheck ):

You don’t even have the courage to text him back. Instead, you turn off your phone and toss it to the side. None of this should really upset you—he’s extremely busy. Seeing him that night must have been a major fluke, and you’d rather talk to him via text when he had time versus not at all.

At about 9pm, you get an Instagram update notification that Chenle posted. You click on it absentmindedly, pausing at the photo. It’s Chenle, Jaemin, and Daegal. Jaemin cradles Daegal to his chest and pouts at Chenle.

The caption reads, “I’m gone for three hours, and now Jaemin doesn’t want to give her back…”

For some reason, it makes you stop and think. You like the post, close the Instagram app, and open your messages with Jaeseok.

You (9:12pm): how’s dogsitting? Jaeseok (9:15pm): ahhh my friend came to get her a little bit ago…i need to get a pet

That’s one hell of a coincidence. You slide to the Instagram app once more, noting Jaemin’s blue hair. With your heart sinking in your chest, you shake your head. There’s no way.

No. Way.

Plus, Jaeseok wouldn’t lie to you like that. Not about something like this.

You (9:21pm): maybe try cats…if dogs are too much work for u Jaeseok (9:22pm): plus we all know cats are superior You (9:23pm): i’m gonna go to sleep…we’ll celebrate soon? i start work monday Jaeseok (9:24pm): as soon as i can! promise (:

The start of Monday is absolutely hectic. You get your own office up on the third floor. It’s everything you ever could’ve wanted, and you feel as if Jaeseok really is your good luck charm. Not only is this better than your dream job you lost, but it also pays nearly double what you were making.

It’s only when you’ve settled in that you realize your job is hyper-specific. Yes, you work in marketing, but more specifically, you do NCT Dream’s marketing. You almost choked on your water when you saw that on your paperwork.

And unbeknownst to you, you’d receive a visit from the group later in the day. You’re going through the paperwork the previously employed person left for you when a knock sounds at your door.

Your head shoots up and you allow whoever it is to come in. Mark walks in first, a smile on his face. You try to stop your jaw from dropping, but it gives way slightly anyway.

The other boys—the other six—tumble in the door afterward.

“We like to welcome new staff members,” Mark says, holding out an envelope. “It’s nothing crazy, just a card. But I hope we’ll all work well together.”

You grin, surprised your vocal chords work. “Thank you so much. I’m very excited for the opportunity, and I’m sure I can help you guys achieve great things.”

Your eyes scan over the boys, heart stuttering when you see Jaemin. His dark roots are starting to show through the bright blue, but you’re sure the hair stylists will fix it.

They all introduce themselves to you, even though you’re positive they’re all aware you know who they are, and you follow suit after. Again, you find your gaze wandering to Jaemin. He’s staring right back at you.

They leave shortly after their introductions, leaving you alone in your office to ponder on how to wake yourself up. This has to be a dream, but no matter how hard you pinch yourself, it’s not working.

With coincidences adding up, you decide to test your insane theory about Jaeseok being freaking Na Jaemin.

You (12:23pm): guess what

As you suspect, it takes him quite a while to respond.

Jaeseok (1:35pm): hmmm what You (1:38pm): i met nct dream. like for realllll. but also idk if i’m supposed to tell you that? but you’re my only friend so ig do with that what you will Jaeseok (1:39pm): are we close enough for you to tell me your bias now? i’ve been so curious

You grin. Let the games begin.

You (1:39pm): guess Jaeseok (1:40pm): Jisung You (1:40pm): love jisung, but he is so baby Jaeseok (1:41pm): alright then…no baby men. okay what about Mark? You (1:42pm): you’re distracting me from work with your incorrect answers dude Jaeseok (1:42pm): you always distract me from work. call it payback. andddd can you just tell me who it is??? i’ll just go down the list in age order smh You (1:43pm): ooooh you’re a dream stan too if you know age order. okay okay my bias is Chenle!! i want to be daegal’s mom Jaeseok (1:45pm): chenle?! why him????? why daegal’s mom??????? You (1:45pm): the man has the voice of an angel and a jawline for days. why wouldn’t i want to be daegal’s mom Jaeseok (1:46pm): that’s so foul that you only like him for his face You (1:47pm): and to think i was gonna tell you my second fave too… Jaeseok (1:48pm): tell me immediately You (1:49pm): i’ll just tell you the list in order Jaeseok (1:49pm): i’m waiting You (1:50pm): Chenle, Haechan, Renjun, Mark, Jeno, Jisung, Jaemin Jaeseok (1:51pm): ok now wait a minute because you said no babies but jisung is higher than jaemin??????? make it make sense

Even though he’s all but confirming your suspicion of who he is, you can’t help but laugh. What are the odds? Na Jaemin finds you crying on the street and comforts you? You thought you’d be a bit more upset about this, but in reality, you get it. He was nice enough to want to check in on you, regardless of his fame status and busy schedule.

Either way, you let him stew for a little bit. You actually do have some work to do planning for Dream’s upcoming comeback, so you put your phone away for a while. At the end of your first day, you gather up your things and send a text back.

You (5:46pm): Jaemin is the ultimate baby…that’s not a bad thing!! Jaeseok (5:47pm): but CHENLE is ALSO baby You (5:47pm): he’s a meanie and that’s how i like my men Jaeseok (5:48pm): the longer we talk the more i am convinced u need therapy… You (5:49pm): i’ll have you know i tried that and it didn’t work Jaeseok (5:50pm): jaemin is not more baby than chenle and jisung You (5:50pm): prove it

You grin to yourself as you walk out of your office. Waiting by the elevator, you press the button and scroll through Instagram on your phone. You find the picture Chenle posted from last night and linger on it for a few moments. Could you call him out? That’d be too much, wouldn’t it? He’d probably stop talking to you. At this point, you were happy to say he’s a friend, whether he’s really Jaeseok or if he’s Jaemin.

When the doors slide open, you walk in with a smile on your face until you’re confronted with Chenle, Jisung, and Jaemin. You blink in shock, obviously still not used to being in their presence. Bowing your head, you smile at them before turning toward the front. Nerves poke along your spine the longer you’re in there with them. They’re all incredibly nice, so the intimidation factor must be in your head.

You decide to test your theory a little further. You pull out your phone.

You (5:57pm): i see u cannot. i’m always right, u should know that if we’re friends

Mere seconds after you hit send, you hear something buzz behind you. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling.

You (5:57pm): hope work isn’t killing u. that would suck to lose my only friend like that

It buzzes. Again.

“(Y/N),” Chenle says.

You clear your throat and glance over your shoulder at him. “Yes?”

“We’re about to go grab dinner. Our manager’s waiting outside if you want to come along with us?”

You look down at your watch, pursing your lips. It’s almost 6pm. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to hang out with them, but when he’s offering so nicely, how could you say no? You exchange looks with Jaemin and Jisung as well before nodding.

“Sure, why not?”

Everything you see about their friendships in videos is true. They have the same personalities on and off camera, which is pretty rare for people in the spotlight.

You didn’t decide the seating arrangement, but you ended up next to Chenle and across from Jisung. Chenle tells you a story about Daegal from the other day, Jisung listens to it even though he’s probably already heard it before, and Jaemin quietly eats his food.

“You know, you elbowed Jaemin in the face in the Broken Melodies performance video,” you tell Chenle.

“His face bumped into my elbow. He shouldn’t have been so close,” Chenle replies, sending a sly grin over at Jaemin. “He’s alright.”

“I can’t believe they left that in there.” Jaemin chuckles, running his fingers through his hair.

You pull out your phone, almost gasping when you see the time. “It’s almost nine.”

“Yeah, we don’t really get a ton of evenings to ourselves,” Jisung says. “I’m honestly surprised we got out as early as we did today.”

You feel bad for them, truly. They barely get a free moment, and here they are, bringing you along for it. By the time 9:30 comes around, the boys prepare to leave. As much as you vehemently say no, Jaemin pays for everyone’s food. You all climb into the van, and the manager drives everyone home. Jisung is the first to be dropped off, then Chenle, and then you.

You sit in the car alone with Na Jaemin, awkwardly avoiding conversation with him. He glances at you occasionally, but he’s too respectful to stare.

“You live by yourself?” he asks, shattering the silence between the two of you.

Thankfully, the darkness obscures your blush. “Yeah, I do.”

“And you usually walk?” Jaemin’s dark eyebrows furrow, his head slightly tilting to the side. “That doesn’t seem safe.”

“I’ve been doing it for years. Really, it’s fine.”

The car stops outside of your apartment building. You go to open the door, but Jaemin reaches out and grabs your wrist. Recoiling in shock, you look between his hand and his face.

“Sorry,” he says, letting you go. “But…I live down the street. You should let me at least walk you home when I can.”

“I appreciate the thought, but I really don’t need that. And the last thing you need is for someone to take it the wrong way.” You reach out for the door handle again. “Thank you for dinner. That was really kind of you.”

He pauses, letting out a small sigh. “Just…don’t worry about my end of things. You shouldn’t be walking home alone. Especially now that you work with us.”

“I’ll consider it. Goodnight, Jaemin.”

“Goodnight.”

As soon as you’re inside your apartment, your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out, a smile forming on your face on its own accord when you see who the notification is from.

Jaeseok (9:58pm): luckily for you, your only friend is still alive. You (9:59pm): ah yes, so lucky Jaeseok (9:59pm): also i don’t need to prove jaemin isn’t a baby, you’ll see eventually. they all do You (10:00pm): who is they? Jaeseok (10:00pm): everyone Jaeseok (10:01pm): but that’s besides the point. i hope you’re enjoying your new job You (10:02pm): loving it. especially considering I spent the whole evening talking to Chenle about Daegal Jaeseok (10:03pm): just chenle? You (10:04pm): wouldn’t u like to know Jaeseok (10:04pm): don’t ditch me for chenle. i will be very upset You (10:05pm): idk…chenle hangs out with me at least…

He should really just tell you. At this point, you have an NDA signed, so it’s not like there’s much you could say to anyone anyway. After hearing the way he talked to you in the car, you’re certain Jaeseok and Jaemin are the same person. Without a doubt.

Now, you just have to come up with a way to get him to admit it. Or you could call him out on it, but that’s nowhere near as fun.

That night, you toss and turn, unable to fall asleep. It seems like you’re not the only one—your phone buzzes against your nightstand.

Jaeseok (12:03am): there’s something i need to tell you.

So much for sleeping tonight…

You (12:05am): it better be good, cuz i’m trying to sleep Jaeseok (12:05am): depends on your definition of good i guess. i think this would be easier in person. can i come see you? You (12:05am): when? Jaeseok (12:06am): right now

Nerves blossom in your stomach at the thought. You stare at the conversation a bit longer than you should before shooting out of bed and trying to make yourself look presentable. Your phone buzzes again.

Jaeseok (12:10am): i really need to see you

You can’t say no to that. Your palms sweat at the idea of him coming to your apartment. At the end of the day, you’re fairly certain Jaeseok is Jaemin. But even if he’s not, knowing you have someone who craves to see you in person is a new sensation for you. It doesn’t matter who he is. He’s your friend.

You text him your exact address.

Jaeseok (12:12am): be there in ten